


Honey, this Mirror Ain't Big Enough for the Two of Us

by MourningGlory



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Drug Addiction, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Frerard, Hand Jobs, Heroin, M/M, Methamphetamine, Past Drug Addiction, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rehabilitation, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 29,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MourningGlory/pseuds/MourningGlory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two broken men meet when they believe their lives have ended. Gerard is a heroin addict from the streets. Frank is an ecstasy addict whose casual use has spiraled out of control and he has turned to meth. Rehab!Frerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- Gerard

Prologue- Gerard  
*****************  
Harsh light filtered through my eyelids as I struggled to stay asleep. God no, not another day. Please, just keep the sun away for a few more blissful hours. With a defeated sigh I sat up and leaned back against the rapidly heating brick wall I had fallen asleep by last night. I let my head fall back as I blew air out of my mouth forcefully, trying to ignore the craving of food and the much stronger burning need in my veins for smack. Ow. FUCK. My vision flashed with searing pain as my head hit the wall. Oh yeah, I had almost forgotten. My dealer, Bert, beat the fuck out of me last night when I came up short on my payments and threw me in this stinking alley. Bert was just looking for an excuse to fuck me up though. I mean, no one rejects his advances.  
I gingerly started to feel my body for cracks and fractures. I winced as I pressed on the upper side of my left ribcage and recoiled in disgust as my hand came away sticky red with congealed blood. I brushed the back of my head too and I could feel dried blood crusted in my long and greasy black hair. How the fuck am I going to clean myself off? It’s not like I have a shower that I can bathe in. It’s not like I have anything for that matter. I slowly stand up using the wall to help me, gritting my teeth and muttering curses as I grab my ribcage in agony. I flip up my black hood to shield probable facial bruises and limp out of the alleyway, into a small back street where many more meet.   
The going is slow as fuck. I pass other homeless junkies like myself, all in various degrees of self-destruction. All the worst of the worst in these city slums congregate, moaning and starving. I never thought I’d be one of them.   
After ten or so minutes of wandering around in the shadows my back and legs start to ache and tremble as I start to slide into withdrawal symptoms. How long has it been since my last fix? A day? Two maybe? I can feel the sweat creating a sheen all over my body, suddenly much too hot in my black hoodie and ragged cargo pants. My eyes start to water, and I feel the all too familiar nausea start to rise in the back of my throat, my body trying to regulate itself and flush out the liquid death. Why do I have to come down? Why can’t I stay high and comfortably numb, away from the utter shit that is my life? Everything’s better, softer, when you’re high. I stumble and fall as my trembling legs fail me, the breath getting knocked out of my frail body. I gasp and start to wretch, throwing up vile as I convulse on the ground. If only there had been food to throw up. I stop gagging and start to sob, pulling myself into a ball in the middle of an alleyway, trying to shelter myself from the pain and suffering of my life. My head hits the pavement, and a quickly start to fade from consciousness. As I start to succumb to the dark, my ears can make out a police whistle about 50 feet away. Oh fuck, it’s Tuesday. Weekly junkie roundup day. They’re gutting the place. Have to run, have to hide, have to…. Everything fades to blackness, and heavy footsteps draw nearer.


	2. Chapter One-Itching

Chapter one-Itching- Frank/ Ray  
*************  
Frank-  
Darkness. Again darkness. Always darkness. Darkness at 9:15. Always. Always the scratching starts at 9:15. The burning. The seeing things that “I promise aren’t there Frank, go to bed”. The sad look in nurse’s faces. The door clicking shut. Back to itching. Itching arms. Itching legs. Itching for meth. Itching for relief. Itching. Itching marks. Itching marks where The Good happened. Where I was happy. Itching neck. Itching face. Very itchy. Then the bugs. The bugs come in my room. They pour in. Bugs climb on me. Spiders. I FUCKING HATE SPIDERS. Scream. Claw at skin. Spiders run up my body . Itching. Spiders burrow. Burrow in. Into marks. Into where The Good happened. Now no Good. Only The Bad. The Very Bad. Scream. Writhe. Sob. Cry. No one helps. No one helps get the spiders off, out. Help. HELP. HELPPP! Screaming. Screaming for Ray. Screaming for Mommy. Screaming for anyone. Praying. Don’t believe in God but praying so hard. Praying for this to all be over. To just get better. To just die. To feel nothing. Ray. Ray help me. Please Ray. Please God. Please Mommy. Just stop it all. Stop. It. Now. Bugs in my mouth. In my ears. In my stomach. In my throat. Scream. Can’t. Can’t scream. Too many spiders. SpiderssssSSSS. Spiders burning me. Spiders crawling in my eyes. Burning. Crawling. Suffocating. Itching. Scratching. Making me bleed. Burning spiders. Screaming spiders. Screaming bugs. Screaming and crying. Pleading. Dying. Help. Someone. Please. Help. Me. Hell. HELP ME. Ray. RAY!!!

Ray-  
It pains me. It really does. We were told as soon as we got here to not constantly stay with our patients. We have to let them try to cope on their own as best they can with their withdrawal symptoms. They have to become self-sustainable if they are going to beat their addictions. But Frank. Frankie. He has it so bad. And he’s so young, only 19. It makes me wonder what or who drove him to drugs. It’s so hard just to watch him through the one way mirror, watch him scratch until he breaks skin and shake and scream at the top of his lungs. Alone in his room in the darkness, being attacked by figments of his brain that are fueled by frying neurons and prey on his weakness. Every time he cries my name in agony brings tears to my eyes. I’ve watched so many people disintegrate in these halls. So many lives destroyed and set fire to. The young girl down the hall, whose cocaine use led her to sell herself to violent and greedy men who abused and smacked her around to finance her addiction that still keep her up at night, screaming in terror. The man who developed AIDS from an infected syringe and died in an empty hospital room, covered in sores and disease. He had no mourners.   
This is why it hurts me so much to just stand by and watch his anguish as the monster methamphetamines tear apart his mind and he tears apart his body. I can’t watch this anymore. Fuck the regulations; I will be there for Frankie. I quietly slip out of the observation room and quickly open the door to Frank’s room. I have no idea what he perceives me as through the veil of drugs. He starts to scream about spiders attacking him and how it burns and itches. His neck has started to bleed from the excessive scratching. I sit at the edge of his bed and silently watch him for several moments. His irises are so tiny they are almost invisible, the terrified hazel orbs staring at me, bloodshot and wet from tears. His black hair that normally has the tiniest bit of curl at the tips is limp from the sweat that drips off his body. Veins are prominent in his neck from all his screaming and I’m worried they are going to burst. I quietly begin to sing to him in my slightly raspy voice, knowing this calmed him down last night and hoping it’ll do the trick again. 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. So please don't take, my sunshine away. 

He recognizes the song and stops scratching so violently, relaxing a bit to a whimper and a violent shaking. This is good, very good.

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping. I dreamed I held, you in my arms. When I awoke dear, I was mistaken. And I held, my head, and cried. 

He has shakily climbed over to me and put his head in my lap, softly crying and sniffling. I look down at him and start to play with his raven locks, slightly smiling when he glances up at me. He makes a small motion to keep singing.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take, my sunshine away.

His eyelids start to flutter closed, exhausted from his hallucinations. Another nurse silently passes Frank’s open door, guiding an unfamiliar young man with greasy black hair and striking hazel-green eyes, one with a black eye marring it. His eyes are sunken in his face with dark circles around them, and his face is very bony as is the rest of him. Probably a meth or heroin addict. He wears a black hoodie and cargo pants. His shuffling stops in front of the door and he peers in at Frank and me. His eyes land on Frankie and an unreadable expression appears on his face. He looks up to me and I smile and place a finger on my lips. Shhh. He nods slightly and shuffles after the nurse. They disappear into the room next door. I look down at Frankie, almost asleep and breathing somewhat smoothly now and I sing the last verse in a whisper.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you.  
Please don't take, my sunshine, away.

I sit like that for a while, cradling Frankie’s head in my lap. A silent tear that was begging to escape slides down my face. He will be different. Not like Nia. I’ll keep Frankie safe.

I must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo..... yeah I updated faster. As always, feedback is appreciated! next chapter up later tonight or tomorrow.   
> kthxbye!
> 
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	3. Chapter Two-Rehab-Gerard

Chapter 2- Gerard  
I wake up extremely disoriented, my head throbbing. My eyes go in and out of focus repeatedly as a very small, very grey, and very industrial room comes into view. I try to sit up on something that feels like a bed, but when I do I realize I ‘m restrained with thick canvas straps over a full body tarp. A straitjacket? I throw my head back on the hard mattress and I immediately cry out in pain. What the fucking fuck?! The impact with my injury brings it all rushing back.  
Came up short on payment for smack. Bert beat me up, threw me in the alley. Withdrawal. Shaking. Body aching and burning. Vomiting. Sobbing. Ground. Whistles blowing. Cops. Footsteps. Caught. Caught. My heartbeat increases exponentially as I start to panic. They found me. Found me in the junkie alley. How could I be so fucking stupid?!? Fucking withdrawal. Where the hell am I? Jail? A hospital? I’m so dead. Oh my god. Hot tears begin to leak out of my eyes as I try to wiggle free of the jacket, shaking, not caring about all the injuries I have and may worsen.  
I start to scream, “Get me the FUCK OUT OF HERE! Somebody, anybody help me!”  
I hear footsteps coming towards my room and a moment later my door opens. A police officer, balding and middle aged, opens the door and walks into the room carrying a file.   
“Ah, Mr. Way, you finally regained consciousness. Welcome to Monroeville’s federal prison.” He says, walking over to tower over me on the bed.  
I glare at him, any chance of intimidation lost by the fact I am rolled up like a sushi roll on a bed, covered in tears and bruises. “Why the fuck am I here? I’ve done nothing wrong, and even if I did, you sure as fucking hell couldn’t prove it,” I sneer at him through my tears.  
“Oh, but I, the drug detection apartment, and the officer found you in a homeless slum beg to differ. You were found with characteristic needle punctures in your arm, a large concentration of heroin in your bloodstream, and in the middle of an obvious withdrawal episode. It’ll be much easier for you if you stop screaming profanities at me and talk to me like the civilized human being you may or may not be,” He says matter-of-factly.   
Well, fuck. He’s got me there. I sigh angrily and refuse to meet his eyes.   
“So how long am I going to be here exactly?” I ask, pretending to be defeated. “And why in the ever loving fuck am I in a straightjacket? I can assure you, I’m not crazy.” I add quickly.   
He answers me emotionlessly, reading from a paper inside the file. “You were…” He scans for an answer to my question. I roll my eyes. “You were shaking extensively while unconscious. We were afraid you would injure yourself with the violent tremors…at least further, anyway.”   
He glances at me. “How did you get all these injuries? A black eye, fractured ribs, severe bruising on the back and stomach…” He trails off, waiting for an answer. I glare at him, making it obvious I would provide no answer. He sighs. “Fine. Have it your way, punk. Now, I’m going to attempt to help you stand up so we can get this thing off you, okay? Don’t bite, scratch, or injure me at all or you’ll be in more trouble. Got it?” He looks at me warily.   
I laugh bitterly. “What kind of freak do you take me for? I’m an addict, not a homicidal maniac.” He mutters under his breath, “Well, those things often go hand in hand.”   
I choose to ignore his comment and wiggle a bit to remind him I’m still pretty much a fucking caterpillar here. He places a hand on each of my sides firmly and heaves me to my feet. After ten or so minutes of being shifted around and unbuckled, I was finally free. I immediately made a run for the door to escape this literal prison. The officer behind me made no move to stop me or even turn to watch me. Hmm, that’s fucking strange. Oh well, hasta la vista, bitches. All of a sudden an extremely burly officer stepped from a door and blocked my path. I bounced off him, falling to the floor with a dull thud. I screamed in pain as hot flashes from my ribs and back had me seeing stars. The guard hauled me off the ground by the front of my grungy hoodie and brought me up far too close to his face to be comfortable.  
He grumbled in a low voice, “Try to run again and you’ll wish you were back in that alley, you fuckin’ junkie.” I stared, wide-eyed at him. He slowly put me down and lumbered away back into the shadows.  
I tried one last attempt to get out of this. I turned to the other officer, now lounging smugly against the doorframe of my escaped room. I started to beg him to not make me go to prison.   
“Please, Officer…” I glanced at his shiny gold nametag. Peterson. Stupid name. “Officer Peterson, please. I can’t go to jail. Those inmates will eat me alive. You know what they do to guys like me in prison. I’m begging you; please don’t put me in jail. You want money? I’ll find you some money. You want a fix? I know a guy, he can-”  
*Smack* He slaps me across the face, leaving the left side burning and stinging. I stare at him, trying to hold back panicky sobs. His eyes bore into mine, his face red with anger. “Did you really. Just ask a Police Officer. If he wanted a FIX?!? What kind of law enforcer do you think I am, GERARD?” He sneers my name as if he was talking to a flea. Oh shit. He’s mad. Why the fuck did I offer to get him smack? Stupid, stupid, STUPID.   
He continues screaming at me in the middle of the hallway. “You fucking JUNKIES are all the same, you know that? Stupid, worthless, brain dead BASTARDS, mooching off of taxpayer’s MONEY.”   
My anger overtakes me. I scream back right into his face, “You have NO right WHATSOEVER to judge me and label me. You PATHETIC MAN.”   
He looks at me, an unreadable expression shadowing his face. He composes himself, anger dispersing, and starts chuckling dryly.  
He speaks in a low whisper. “You know, I could put you in jail for five years alone just for saying that. Hell, I could even shoot you, right now. I’d say it was in self-defense. No one would think I was lying. I’m a police officer, you’re a vagabond addict. Who would they believe? Me. You have no family who would mourn you anyway, do you?”  
I look away. Hot tears form at the corners of my eyes. “I could do anything I wanted to you right now. And I would, too. Too bad you’re not staying here. Your fucking blubbering was useless.”  
I look back to him, confused and overjoyed. Oh thank god. First thing, I’ll go back to Bert. Beg forgiveness, let him do what he wants with me, anything for a fix. I’ll even- My thoughts were caught short by Peterson. “No, you’re going to rehab. A complete detox. Have fun drowning in your own addiction.” He smirks. No. God No. Anything but that. Send me to jail, I’d prefer it. Just. Not .To. Get. Clean!   
His pager beeps. He looks down at it, and back up to me. He puts on his ‘civilized-policeman-not-a-fucking-douchebag-asshole-at-all’ face and snaps a pair of handcuffs on me quickly. I start to protest, but he motions to his gun holster and I quickly stand up and follow him to a doorway. He pushes me through them and goes to exchange some words to a woman in a white doctor’s coat. Oh great. Rehab starts now. She comes over to me. Her hair is jet black and pulled up into high pigtails. Strange.   
She says in a high, mock-concerned voice, “Hi Gerard. My name is Doctor Ballato, but you can call me Lindsey. How are you?”  
Her skin is very pale and her smile too plastic looking. I arch an eyebrow at her. “I’m fucking shitty, thanks for asking.” I slightly spit out at her. She widens her eyes a fraction and turns around to converse with Peterson again. She turns back around to me.  
“Officer Peterson will escort us to the other side of the building, where the Monroeville Rehabilitation Institute is located.” Oh. So she’s afraid to be alone with me. Ha. They start to walk away, but I stay in place, contemplating escape. Peterson seems to read my mind and drags me along by my handcuff chains. Fuckin’ Peterson.   
I’m dragged along with Lindsey and Peterson until we reach doors marked with a red capital R. Peterson takes off my handcuffs and walks away without another word to me, presumably to go eat some donuts and laugh at me. “Nice meeting you!” I call out sarcastically. He glares over his shoulder. I flip him the bird as we pass through the doors and he disappears from view.   
Lindsey proceeds to give me a tour of the rehab floor I am staying on. This is apparently an independent building from the prison, self-sufficient with a cafeteria, four floors, and shower rooms. Great. I don’t care. Shut up ,”Doctor”.   
We pass rooms and rooms of sleeping patients, the lights having been turned off half an hour ago at 9:15. One of the doors is open, and a faint crying is drifting out, accompanied by a raspy singing. We come to the door and Lindsey walks past, apparently ignoring the crying. I stop and peer in.   
In front of me is an indescribable scene. A teenager, looking no older than 16 or seventeen is sweating profusely and shaking, crying softly. His eyes are a bright hazel color and very bloodshot, his inky black hair limp from sweat. I, for an unknown reason, fiercely want to comfort him, hold him until everything’s okay. I want to be the one to sing to him while his head is in my lap. Get a grip Gerard, you’re fucking losing it. But it’s not my lap he’s lying in. His head rests cradled in the lap of a man with long, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wears a doctor’s coat like Lindsey. He is singing softly to the boy, a sweet and caring lullaby I can faintly remember hearing somewhere. His is the raspy voice. I stand listening to him sing.   
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take, my sunshine away.  
I am unable to tear my eyes way from the scene. The boy has all but fallen asleep and the man senses my presence. Instead of him screaming at me or glaring like I expected him to, he smiles softly and rests a finger on his lips. Shhh. Alright. I silently nod and shuffle away, hoping I did not disturb the young man’s sleep.  
I am led into a room next door to the boy’s, the lights remaining off. Lindsey is saying something, but I’m not paying attention to her. I nod absently and she walks out, about to close the door. I stop her quickly. “Lindsey, who was that boy in the room next to mine? The one with his head in a doctor’s lap?” I ask quietly, wondering out loud.   
She looks confused for a second before answering, “Oh, his name is Frank. Frank Iero. He’s only been here for a few days. He is-was a meth addict, and currently in the throes of a tough withdrawal. Sorry if he disturbs you.”  
I say his name silently, feeling it fill my mouth. “No, it won’t be a problem, thanks. Night.” I say absentmindedly. She nods and closes the door, leaving me alone in the darkness with my jumbled thoughts. Frank. Frank. I stare at the wall, knowing that he sleeps fitfully in the next room.  
Frank. I like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO LONG CHAPTER at least by my standards hahah. Don't you just love Peterson? *Sarcasm*  
> I think real life lynz is beautiful and perfect and lovely. she is just not all those in this fiction. sorry, but its only for the story, not my personal opinion of her.  
> thanks for kudos! (wink wink nudge nudge) 
> 
> kthnksbye!  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	4. CHapter 3- Repent- Frank

Chapter 3- Frank  
**************  
I’m back in my old bedroom. I turn around slowly, surveying my surroundings. Nothing’s changed. My posters are intact, my cd’s on their shelf. Pansy sits in her open case in my closet, the guitar’s white chrome gleaming. I hear a noise behind me, and spin around, alerted. On my bed, is…Me?   
That’s not possible. How can I be here and there at the same time? His- no, my back is turned. I stride to my bed, full prepared to interrogate this imposter. I make a grab for his shoulder to jerk him around. But my hand goes right through his shoulder. As if I wasn’t even real, or here, or both. My eyes widen in surprise and frustration, and I peer over the other Frank’s shoulder. His right arm is shaking visibly as he holds a spoon over a lit candle placed precariously on a book. A spoonful of yellowish-white powder is starting to melt into a yellow tinted bubbling liquid. He grabs a syringe off his bedside table and quickly draws up the liquid into it. He blows out the candle, emitting a puff of smoke, and knocks the spoon to the floor in his haste. Oh. I know what’s coming next. God, how I’ve missed this. I settle beside the other Frank and watch as he double checks the strip of t-shirt tied tightly around his arm above the elbow, making sure it is in place. He slaps the injection site a few times lightly to produce more feeling in the area. I pantomime with him as he thrusts the needle into the delicate skin in his inner elbow, pretending my finger is the needle. He counts quietly to himself. 1, 2, 3…7, 8, 9….14, 15. We both tip our heads back in pleasure as the high begins to kick in, me only grasping on to the memory of the feeling of my heart speeding up and the blessed emptiness in my head. So this is a dream, a recounting of a memory from some days ago. Oh well, at least I got a good one. I watch the me- from -the -past start to ride his high. His eyebrows fly up his forehead to the point where they are covered by his hair and he gets a goofy, blissed out smile on his face. He falls backwards, eagle spread on his bed and lets the feeling wash over him. I sigh at the memory. Damn, that was such a good batch. I’d do anything to get my hands on more of that shit.  
I watch my past-self feel the pleasure for a few minutes, when suddenly a tight knot of cold dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Oh, fuck. Maybe this isn’t such a good dream after all. Other Frank is oblivious, unaware that any second his life is going to be ripped apart at the seams and lit on fire. I start to shake in fear and scoot to the corner of my room, next to Pansy. I wrap my arms around my legs and curl up into a ball, eyes and ears trained on the door. Oh god, any second now. Please let me be wrong. Please.   
A faint thudding is coming closer to the closed and locked door. The past Frank takes no notice, still wrapped up in his high. I desperately run over to him, trying to get his attention by any means necessary. I can’t touch him though.   
I whisper to him violently, painfully aware of the thudding sound of footsteps coming closer. “Frank, you have to snap the fuck out of it. Hide the spoon and the syringe; cover up your track marks, now. There’s not much time before-”   
But it’s too late. There is a sharp rap at the door and my father’s voice booms through the door. “Open up Franklin, it’s time to pray. Come downstairs.” I run and hide back in the corner, bracing myself for what I know the past me is going to stupidly say.   
He rolls onto his stomach on the bed and groans, his voice muffled by the covers on the bed. “Fuck off, Dad. I’m busy.” There is a silence on the other side of the door, and I know my father is standing stock still. He laughs nervously, an edge to his voice. “What was that, young man? It sounded like a cuss word on the great day of our Lord. Open the door, Franklin.”   
He groggily flips back over onto his stomach and yells at the door, “I said, fuck OFF, Dad. Go pray to your God by yourself.” Bad, bad, BAD move Frank. Meth has always taken my sense of self control. I can’t say that I hadn’t wanted to say that to him. But oh god, the consequences. There’s a reason I always tiptoed around my parents.   
My father is silent, and the footsteps recede. Past me flops back down on his bed, stupidly believing that was the end of the discussion. Oh no, it certainly isn’t. Things are about to get a lot more physical. I cover my ears and shield my eyes from the memory unfolding in front of me, but the scrape of a key turning in my old bedroom door seems deafening. In moments, my father marches in, grabbing the other Frank by the collar of his t-shirt and bringing him mere centimeters away from my father’s beet red with anger face. I am now glad I can’t be heard or seen. He screams in my past self’s face, flicks of spittle landing on his now fully alert face. “HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME, YOU FILTHY SINNER? You dare to insult me, your caregiver and protector, with derogatory language on the day of our Lord? YOU DISGUST ME .”   
The past Frank’s eyes are full of fear as he’s thrown on the ground, my father towering over him as he begins to shout bible verses down on Frank’s cowering form. “Deuteronomy 21:18-21, If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear.”   
Frank tries to get away; to crawl past is father and exit, but no such luck. My father continues mercilessly, pressing his foot into the me from the past’s abdomen. Fuck, I still have a bruise there. “ ‘Proverbs 29:15. The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.’ Do you want to shame your mother, Franklin? Do you?!?”   
My father is almost hysterical now, pressing his shoe into Frank’s chest and screaming. My mother stands in the doorway, watching silently and grim faced. I begin to tear up silently, watching the horrible memory unfold. My father suddenly goes quiet as he bends down to look more closely at Frank’s arm, a small pinprick-sized droplet of blood on it. He pulls me to my feet, not being able to meet my eyes. He scans the room and immediately sees the partially melted candle, spoon, and used syringe on my old nightstand. The other Frank begins to panic, breath rising and falling from his chest shallowly, realizing what has happened.   
“Father, I can explain, I was just-” He is silenced by my father grabbing the back of his shirt and lifting him up by it, choking and gasping for hair. My eyes begin to leak freely as I remember my impossibly fast heartbeat and the feeling of suffocation. My father speaks quietly, perfectly calm. “Franklin Anthony Thomas Iero Junior. Are you abusing illegal substances?” He looks at me, emotion vacant.   
“Father, I was-” Frank chokes out, face turning red from lack of air. “WHAT SUBSTANCES ARE YOU TAKING.” My father screams. About to pass out from lack of oxygen, Frank gives in to my father. “M-meth.”  
My father’s face contorts in anger and unmask-able rage as he quickly bounds over to my closet door, opens it, and throws me in. My body hits the wall so hard the wall cracks slightly. Past Frank screams in pain as he gasps for breath, falling over into a heap. I sob uncontrollably, remembering the feeling of pain and who caused it. My father, my childhood hero and protector, now turned into an unrecognizable monster. He slams the door shut with inhuman force and locks it. “REPENT FOR YOUR SINS, DEMON. YOU ARE NO LONGER ANY SON OF MINE.”  
He sprints down the hallway, dragging my silent mother with him, silent tears running down her face. But she is not crying because her son is locked in his closet, forced to pray to the ceramic portrayal of Jesus, but because she has birthed and raised a sinner. A filthy, worthless sinner. I hate religion with all my heart. It has brought out the demons in my parents. Frank stands and goes to the wall hanging, taking it down and cradling it in his hand. I know this because I lived it only a few days ago. He smashes it against the wall, glazed clay scattering everywhere. I know my father is downstairs, I can hear him. He is calling up the nearest possible rehab, and sending me there as fast as he can. Both I and past frank curl up into a ball, sobbing hopelessly.  
My father’s words replay in my head. ‘You are no longer any son of mine.’  
*************************************************************************************  
I am shaken awake by Ray. He waits until I am partly conscious, and then looks at me concernedly. “Frank, are you alright? You were talking in your sleep.”  
I blink at him, realizing it was just a memory in a dream, and sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry if I worried you.”  
He looks relieved and sits back. “I’m not worried if you’re okay. You know you can talk to me about anything, right Frank? I won’t betray you.”   
“I know.” I say shortly, leaving it at that.  
He waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, hands me clothes to get dressed into. I say my thanks, and he turns around to give me privacy as I change into day clothes. When I’m finished, I tap him on the shoulder and he turns back around, offering me a hand up off of the bed. He pulls me into standing, and I walk towards the door, following him to my first session of group therapy.   
“Ray?” I ask hesitantly. He turns around, “Yeah Frank?” “... You said I was talking in my sleep. What was I saying?” I ask quietly, already having an idea as to what I said.   
He refuses to meet my eyes. He speaks softly. “You kept saying one word, over and over. ‘Repent.’ ”  
I nod, tears springing to my eyes, and we walk in silence to the therapy room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I hope to get another chapter started tonight and i'll update tomorrow. Feedback is always appreciated!  
> (*Authors notes* I am not against religion, but the ugly portrayal of religion is necessary for the plot, please don't be offended. I am also sure that Frank Iero and Linda Iero are nothing like this in real life, characters personalities are completely fictional.)  
> Kthxbye!  
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	5. Chapter 4- Group Therapy- Frank

Chapter 4- Frank  
**************  
Ray and I are the last ones to sit down at group therapy, all the other patients already waiting for us so we can begin. I blink fiercely, removing any traces of tears, and look around at the other patients, seeing maybe seven or eight sullen and mute figures, each with their respective doctors conversing in a corner. Ray pats my lower back reassuringly, before going to join the doctors. I look after him, angrily and panicked, hating to be in a group of strangers. I realize the room has fallen silent and everyone is watching me glare and pout at Ray’s back. My face heats up as I sit down in my chair quickly and cross my arms defensively, kicking at the ground.   
A man with straightened strawberry blond hair stands up. He introduces himself, giving off an air of confidence that poorly masks his apprehension and shyness. “Hey, Guys. My name is Patrick, and I’m going to be your therapy session supervisor for your time spent here. Why don’t we start by going around and saying our names, past drug of choice, and any other information we would like to share with the group. Any volunteers to start?”  
He looks around expectantly, but he is only met by silence and downcast eyes. I find it hilarious that Patrick actually believes any of us are going to be excited to jump up and tell a room full of strangers personal information about our lives. He momentarily looks uncertain and quickly recovers.  
“So I guess I’ll start then. My name is Patrick Stump, I am 32 years old. I was addicted to a cocktail of alcohol and prescription pills. I was sent here six years ago and have been clean for five years, my favorite color is green, and I am absolutely terrified of public speaking.” He says quickly, not making eye contact with anyone.  
An extremely skinny man with many tattoos butts in, blurting out a question that was also on my mind. “If you’re so afraid of public speaking, why the hell are you here? Your job is practically nothing but public speaking. Why didn’t they find another recovered addict to come in and talk?”   
Patrick seems to realize this and sits down. He speaks in an overly casual tone, “Other alumni of this institute were not available at this time.” Oh, great. They’re all dead or still on drugs. I honestly wouldn’t care if I become one of those ‘alumni’ soon as I get out of this joint.   
Patrick quickly draws attention away from his statement by making us all go around in a circle and share our life’s’ story with each other. I watch each person that goes, giving them nicknames in my head, like Skinny-Guy-With-Tattoos, and Paranoid-Redhead-Chick. It’s finally my turn to share, and I reluctantly drag myself to my feet and stare at my feet. “Uh…Hi. My name is Frank Iero. I’m 19, hooked on meth, and my parents are more religious than the mother in ‘Carrie’. They sent me here when they walked in on me using this past Sunday, and I’ve been disowned. My life fucking sucks, and I’ll be using as soon as I get out of this place.” I plunk down in my seat, before adding an afterthought. “My favorite colors are black and red. Next.”   
Ray is glaring at me, disappointed that I’m being so uncooperative. I shrug at him, trying to pretend I wasn’t upset by the fact his stare is burning into my soul. I shift guiltily in my seat, trying to ignore him.   
I can feel another stare on me. I glance around, looking for the person who could be staring. My eyes connect with another person sitting across from me in the circle, a man. His eyes are a gorgeous hazel and his skin is pale, so pale it’s like he’s never even seen the sun. One of his eyes is marred with a black eye, the bruise flowering around it, bordering the edge of his pixy-like nose. Locks of ink black hair fall across his angular face, its long length obscuring his eyebrows and ears. His pale pink lips turn upwards in a half-smile as he meets my eyes. Oh, God, he’s perfect. I blush as I realize I’m staring, but find myself unable to break the intense eye contact that has started. He smiles wider at my apparent blush and I catch a glimpse of tiny teeth, small and perfect. Men like this are the reason I question if I really am into girls at all. He mouths something to me that I can’t understand. I mouth back, ‘what?’ He rolls his eyes and gestures with his hand, as if to say never mind. I nod and try not to pay attention to the beautiful man sitting only a few feet away from me. A few people introduce themselves and I can’t focus on anything else but the man across the circle of chairs.   
It is finally his turn to stand up, and I turn my full attention to him as he rises out of his chair, taking note of his baggy black hoodie and old cargo pants. They complement him somehow.  
He starts to talk, his voice somewhat feminine for a man and laced with a New Jersey drawl. “My name is Gerard, Gerard Way. My poison of choice is smack. You know, junk, dope, horse, shot, H-” he is cut off by Patrick’s pointed cough, telling him to keep things moving. He looks sheepish, and clears his throat. “My drug of choice is heroin. I am homeless, and have been for quite some time now. I’m 24, and have done nothing positive with my life. I was found having a withdrawal episode in an alley when the police found me. I’m here before jail time. My favorite colors are also red and black,” He says looking at me for a second. He continues. “There, so now you know all my secrets. I’m an open book. Next.”   
I watch him as he sits down, surprised. Homeless… Fuck, he’s got it worse than me. And he’s going to jail after this. I see Gerard in a slightly different light now, but not a necessarily negative one. Just one that shows beyond that pretty face, to something deeper.   
One more person introduces himself, and then Patrick is announcing that ‘that’s all the time we have today, and we will resume next Wednesday, at the same time.’ Everyone slowly gets up, stretching or rubbing their faces. I look to Ray, who is deep in conversation with another doctor with black ponytails. Gerard comes over to me, evidently trying to engage me in conversation. I watch him as he strides over, trying not to show any emotion on my face, playing it cool. He stops in front of me, and I can see the definite height difference between us. He seems to be about four or five inches taller than my short build of five foot, four inches. I look up at him, arching an eyebrow to question his approach.  
“Can I help you?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant. He smirks again. God, this boy and his smirking. He replies, “Well, we kind of had a staring contest just now. I thought I’d introduce myself to the boy with the pretty eyes. I’m Gerard, but you already know that.” He sticks his hand between us, holding it out for me to shake. I blush and casually shake his hand, letting my fingers linger as I drop it. His fingers are long and slender. Elegant.   
I reply to him, “Yeah, I believe I do already know that. I’m Frank.” I softly smile as there is a moment of silence. “What did you mouth to me? I’m shit at reading lips.” I ask him.   
The smirk falls off his face as he looks at me, starting at me intensely with those burning eyes again. “I asked you if you were okay. I was admitted here last night, and my room is right next to yours, actually. You were screaming and scratching yourself….You are okay, right?”   
I look down at our shoes, embarrassed that he saw me in such a vulnerable state. I try to not let my embarrassment show. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking, sorry you had to see that.” I pull on my neck slightly, trying not to meet his sympathetic eyes.   
“Hey, no problem,” Hey says to me, smiling a bit sadly. “I know the feeling.” He looks over as the doctor with ponytails gestures to him impatiently. “I gotta go, the wench calls.” I giggle slightly at his use of the word wench. He starts to walk backwards, getting father away from me as he finishes talking. “I’ll see you around, okay Frank? We are next door neighbors, after all.” He flashes me that perfect smirk again, and leaves with his doctor. I blush at how my name rolls off his tongue, how he pulls out the ‘a’ sound slightly.  
Ray comes over to retrieve me, giving me a knowing look. I glare at him, a blush creeping up my face and neck as he elbows me and motions after Gerard and his nurse. We walk back to my room, and it is only after he clicks the door shut that he cracks a massive smile. “So, I see you made a friend?” He asks, laughter creeping into his voice.   
I shove him away, turning so he can’t see the look on my face. “Shut the fuck up, Ray.” He sits next to me on the bed, suddenly growing serious. “Are….you gay, Frank?” He asks.   
I look at him. “I…I honestly don’t know. I want to think that I’m not, but I look at him, and….” I trail off and look down at my feet. “My parents would completely hate me if I was. More than they already do, anyways.”   
Ray is silent for a minute, but then speaks. “Your parents…Are horrible people, Frank. Find someone you love, and love them. I saw the way you and Gerard looked at each other. Just do what makes you happy.”   
I don’t respond. I don’t know how to. He stands up to leave, and just as he turns to the door I throw my arms around his chest, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Ray.” I whisper.  
He turns back around and hugs me back, having to bend over slightly. “Thanks for what?” He asks quietly.  
“Just….thanks.”   
“You’re welcome.”  
After we detach, he gives me a smile and silently walks out the door, leaving me alone with my confusion, my undeniable attraction, and my thoughts of Gerard’s smirk stuck in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay? I've had a long day and i'm really tired. Anyways, they finally met! yayyyyyyy  
> Feedback keeps me going, darlings!  
> kthnksbyeeeee  
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	6. Chapter 5- Notes- Gerard

Chapter 5- Gerard  
**************  
My thoughts focus on Frank as I walk back to my room with Lindsey, trying to block out the nausea and agitation I have been feeling since I woke up this morning. Luckily, I was passed out in the custody of the cops during the worst of my withdrawal, but I can feel it continuing to creep up on me. I shove the negative thoughts out of my head and nod along to whatever it is Lindsey is saying to me. She leaves me immediately when I get back to my room, writing shit on her clipboard, probably how unresponsive I am to her. I groan at how shitty my body feels and walk over to my bed slowly, falling face down on it with a groan. I concentrate on not emptying the contents of my stomach onto the mattress for some time, wishing for the thousandth time today I had a fix. I wait until the wave of sickness passes before sitting up and leaning against the wall my bed is up against. I press my ear to the wall, hoping to hear something from Frank’s room. I stop as I realize how creepy and obsessive this is, how unnatural it is to be this infatuated with a person I just met.  
I’ve known since I was twelve and masturbating to thoughts of my male English teacher that I was into guys. I have had several boyfriends in the past, but I was prone to fall for guys that were no good for me. As a result of my affinity for bad boys, combined with my feminine facial features, I was several of my middle and high school bully’s ‘experiments’. They used me; trying to convince themselves they were straight by forcing all the gay out of them in one quick, manipulative relationship. The worst of them was my most recent boyfriend, Bert, who I broke up with when he became too violent and abusive. We were both using at the time, and he continued to be my dealer after we broke up. He was always trying to get me back, offering me free heroin in exchange for a blowjob or a hand job. I was done with him, but he supplied the addiction. I resisted as best I could, which was not always. I’m not proud of it.   
I pushed my past relationship’s memories out of my head. If Frank and I were in a relationship, things would be different. If frank and I were in a relationship. I pushed the thought out of my head. There is no way Frank would ever go for me. It would never happen.   
I heard Frank’s voice through the thin walls. He was talking with someone, probably his curly haired nurse. His voice sounded uncertain, a bit rough, like he needed to clear his throat. “I…I honestly don’t know. I want to think that I’m not, but I look at him, and…. My parents would completely hate me if I was. More than they already do, anyways.”   
I stare at the wall, blushing a bit. I was definitely not meant to hear that, I have a feeling Frank might have just said something very personal and private. It actually sounded like…no. It couldn’t be. Did Frank just come out? He did say ‘he’ after all. They must be here, if he’s looking at him on a regular basis. I bite my lip to prevent a large smile spreading across my face. I strain to catch any more snippets of conversation, pressing my ear tightly against the wall, but I can’t hear anything else. Who is the guy Frank likes? I feel the burning need to know way more than I probably should. Oh god, it’s just like middle school all over again.  
The doctor that I can only assume Frankie was just talking to passes by my door, glancing in the small window looking in as he walks away. He meets my eyes and sees me, my ear pressed against the wall. He raises his eyebrows, obvious he knows what I am doing and why. I quickly jerk away from the wall and scratch my neck, overtly casual. He stops in front of my door, looking down, his arm moving slightly. I am worried for a moment that he is writing a note to Lindsey, that they are both going to bust in here and lecture me about patient confidentiality, but he bends down and a piece of paper is slipped under the door. He stands up, flashes me a tiny smile, and walks away without a word. I wait until I am positive he’s gone before running over to the door, crouching over to pick up and unfold the note.   
On it is written in a large, wobbly handwriting, “Don’t hurt him, Gerard. –Ray.”  
I turn around and rest my back on the door, looking over to mine and Frank’s neighboring wall. I have no idea what this means. Why on earth would I hurt him? I ponder what meaning this note could possibly hold for a while, slumped on the ground like a ragdoll. I fold the note up and place it on my bed, meaning to examine it further later.   
But first, I have to pay a friendly visit to a certain short, hazel-eyed, beautiful boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5, in which Gee is a clueless idiot.
> 
> This chapter is so short, I am ashamed. Not even a thousand words. I am so sorry, hopefully the next chapter will be longer? No promises.  
> feedback is lovely and magical and beautiful and a gift. ;)  
> kthnksbye,  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	7. Chapter 6- Blushing and Scratching- Frank/Gerard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***DO NOT READ GERARD'S POV AT THE VERY END IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY SELF HARM. I DONT WANT ANY OF Y'ALL TO HURT YOURSELVES. you wont miss anything important I promise.

Chapter 6-Frank/Gerard  
*************  
Frank-  
My head shoots up and out of my hands when I hear a knock on my door. I glance at the door, wondering who it could possibly be, seeing as Ray just fucking barges in and no one else would want to see me. Maybe it’s Gerard? A tiny seed of hope forms in my stomach and I quickly crush the thought. Why would he want to see me? He probably has something to do, some nurse’s skirt to look up.   
I stand up and slowly walk to the door, panic rising inside me as I realize it might be my mother or father or both, here to lecture me about how much of a fuck-up I am and hang crosses everywhere so that “Jesus can look over and protect me from the sins around me.” Give me a break. I slowly open the door, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes to face whatever is behind it. I am greeted by silence, and I keep my eyes closed so as to pretend it was just a hallucination caused by my withdrawal and not my parents glaring down at me or a police officer, here to condemn me to jail after I get out of here.   
I feel a finger poke the space between my eyebrows, causing my unintentional frowning to cease and my eyes shoot open. Leaning against the doorway, a confused frown-smile on his face and finger outstretched is Gerard. “You keep frowning like that, you’re gonna get premature wrinkles,” He singsongs, dropping his arm limply.   
I roll my eyes, willing myself not to blush at the fact that Gerard is standing just a foot or so away from me. I mentally compose myself and arrange my face in a casual half-smile. “Hello to you too, Gerard.”   
He grins and knocks at the doorframe, talking in his normal yet distinctive voice. “Am I allowed to enter? Vampires need permission to come into their acquaintance’s dwellings.”  
I roll my eyes at his eccentric words and step aside. “Yea, come the fuck in. If by some chance you actually are a vampire, just don’t bite my neck.” I say, watching him walk into my room, his eyes taking in the uniform greyness.  
“No promises, Frankie,” he says, baring his teeth and winking at me. Oh god, he gave me a nickname. I can feel my face blushing a deep pink as dirty thoughts of him biting and sucking on my neck with his perfect lips and teeth enter my mind. I turn to my bed to hide my blush and sit cross-legged on it, smoothing the wrinkles in front of me on the covers. He sits opposite me, looking around at anything but me. I am struck by a fleeting thought that the looks like a small child in this moment, twiddling with the hems of his pant legs. The awkward silence and the tension in the air grows. I decide to end it. “So, what brings you to my humble abode, Gerard?”  
He replies quickly, as if he was waiting for me to ask him something. “Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood.” I nod, leaning back and using my forearms to hold myself up.   
I cock my head to the side, squinting my eyes as I study his form. He mimics me, and I see humor glimmering in his hazel eyes. “You seem to be the most sarcastic person I have ever met.” He flops backwards on the bed, estimating the amount of mattress behind him wrongly. His limbs momentarily flail as he teeters on the edge of falling off the bed, and I reach out a hand to steady him. He grabs it and pulls himself up with surprising strength and speed, his momentum bring him back to sitting position far too fast. He tips forward, his face mere inches from mine. His cheeks are tinted a shade of pink that would be unnoticeable on people whose skin wasn’t the color of bone. Gerard is not one of these people. He scans my eyes with his, our faces extremely close. He says quietly and very seriously, “Oh, I am by far. The most sarcastic, I mean.”   
I decide to test the waters a bit, to see if I can rile him a bit. “You also seem far less confident then you outwardly project.” His eyebrow twitches, and his face twists into a strange smile.  
“You seem far more confident that you outwardly project,” He says with a smirk.   
He continues before I can get my two cents in. “You see sugar, sarcasm and false confidence are my only defense mechanisms. I’m not exactly physically strong, I have no talents to hide behind, I honestly have nothing but the ability to throw out a cool expression and a quick one-liner. Not many people take the time to see past the façade, however.”  
All his pet names are strangely sexy, how he draws out the syllables. I scoot to my edge of the bed, away from him and tip my head backwards against the cold wall. “Why aren’t you actually confident, though?”  
He looks at me incredulously, like the answer should be obvious. “Why should I be? Let’s count what I’ve got going for me. There’s the dark bags under my eyes. There’s my greasy hair that really needs a fucking cut. There’s my bony body covered in bruises. There’s-” I cut him off.   
“Your eyes. There’s your eyes.” He looks over to me, confused. “What?”   
Oh god. I actually said that. I didn’t mean to actually say that. I might as well explain it to him if he can’t see it himself. “You’ve got your eyes going for you. Your eyes are really pretty, and they have the badass ability to hold other people’s eyes really intensely. I think our staring contest in group therapy proved that.”   
I look at the wall behind me, determined to not look at Gerard. I feel the weight on the bed shirt, and I glance back in front of me. Gerard is (yet again) far too close for me to remain calm, having crawled over my legs and is staring at me intensely. My face heats up as I realize how he is practically straddling me, his face so close to mine I could count each of his long black eyelashes if I felt the urge to.   
He says in a quiet voice to me, “Thanks.”  
I nod, feeling very uncomfortable as Gerard is practically staring into my soul. I manage to bend my knee and press my one of my converse into his chest lightly, making him look down and our eye contact break. I say dryly to him, mind functionality returning, “You have a real problem with personal space, Gerard.”   
He sits back on his knees and looks back to me, that fucking smirk back on his face. “No, Frankie, I don’t have a problem with personal space. You have a problem with me invading your personal space.”  
I blush and look down, realizing that this is true. That fucker. Suddenly I catch a whiff of his body odor when he moves, the smell making my eyes water. “God, when’s the last time you took a shower? You reek.”   
He immediately scoots further away from me, crossing his arms self-consciously. He avoids my gaze sheepishly scratch his head. “Sorry. I don’t really have any other clothes to change into, and there’s not much opportunity to shower in a dirty alleyway.”   
I immediately feel terrible. How the fuck could I of forgotten he was homeless? I get up, offering my hand to Gerard to pull him off the bed. He takes it cautiously. “If you want me to go, that’s fine, I’ll-”  
I interrupt his nervous stream of words. “No, it’s totally not a problem. Can I give you come clothes to change into and deodorant, though?”   
He looks at me gratefully and nods as he uses my hand to quickly pull himself up. His sudden tug makes me stumble, bumping my forehead into his chest as he stands. I rub my head and he looks down, letting out a little giggle, probably at how weak and clumsy I am. I stick out my tongue and turn to my closet to get him something to wear and clean himself with. I grab the longest pair of jeans I own and my biggest t-shirt, seeing as Gerard is taller and a bit broader than I am. I also pick up my deodorant and some old spice. It smells like liquid asshole in a can, but it’ll be better than Gerard smelling like a hobo.   
I toss the stuff to Gerard, who drops the items on the bed and starts to take off his shirt. His back is turned to me, but I can see just how much his bones stick out of his skin, but not unpleasantly so. I take in every inch of his shirtless form, staring as could only be considered creepy. I watch Gerard put on the deodorant and slip off his pants, standing only in dirty boxers. I look away, embarrassed. I can feel him glance over at me. “I’m that disgusting, huh?” He says, the humor in his voice sounding hollow.   
I look back over to him; he’s staring over his shoulder at me. I clear my throat and speak. “No, you’re not disgusting at all; I just wanted to give you some privacy.” He scans my face for a trace of a lie. When he finds none, he slips my jeans on and turns around to look at me. “For someone so short, your jeans fit me nicely.” He jokes dryly.   
I ignore the joke, completely unaware of anything but his left arm.   
On the inside of Gerard’s arm, from his wrist to halfway to his shoulder are hundreds of black and purple pockmarks, some crusted and infected, others healed over. The skin visible between the marks is laced with blackened veins, so prominent under his ghostly pale skin. The casual smile he wears slips off as he studies my face, going emotionless and still. He says in a quiet voice, “Addiction is such a fucking bitch.”   
He makes a move to cover his arm with his hoodie again, but I walk over to the bed, sitting down and taking the dirty black cloth away from him and setting it on my lap.   
“Don’t put this dirty old hoodie on again until it’s washed.” I continue to stare uneasily at his arm, unable to look away.   
Gerard looks at me, his gaze hard. He suddenly grabs my own arm, and pushes my sleeve up. “You know, Frank, if you keep using meth your arm is going to look like this too. In half the time it took for me to build up my collection.” He brushes his fingertips lightly over the ten or so visible pinpricks on my skin, each with a tiny scab on it. I shiver involuntarily at the feeling of his cold fingertips.   
“Those will get deeper and darker, Frankie.” He whispers. “It’ll take more to get you high, and you’ll never be the same when you’re fully addicted.”  
I look down at his arm, then up to his face, then back down to his arm. A beautiful, broken man with a destroyed life. I pull my sleeve down, pushing thoughts of the future out of my mind. He retracts his arm, and sits there for some time, just looking at me. I feel my face heat up for the fucking billionth time and sigh, my head falling down into my arms.   
His casual smile returns, but only a fraction of its previous self. “You blush a lot Frank. Why is that?”   
I refuse to answer him and burrow further into my arms, unable to look at him. His hand cups my face lightly, and I slowly lift my head up. He leans in close to me, eyes half open. “Is it because of me? Do I make you uncomfortable?” He says in a husky voice, eyes flickering with uncertainty and something I can’t understand.   
This is all too much for me. I panic and jerk away from him, teetering on the edge of the bed as Gerard had done before. This time he is the one to catch me, and his grip is strong. I can feel tears burning my eyes as I speak in a cracked voice. “Gerard, I’m not gay. I can’t be. I…I like girls. Not boys. Not. Boys.” I say, trying to convince myself as much as him.   
He lets go of my hand and I fall off the bed, my back hitting the floor. He looks away, eyes covered by his curtain of hair. “But…but to Ray, you said when you looked at someone, you didn’t know. When you looked at him.”  
I sit up, mortified he heard that. I glare at him, deciding to hide behind defensiveness. “How the fuck did you hear that? I…You spied on me? How dare you?!?”   
He starts to protest. “No, there are thin walls here and-” I cut him off coldly. “I think you need to leave, Gerard.”  
His eyes fill with angry tears and he starts to take off my shirt, to give it back to me. “Keep it. Just get out,” I say.   
He quickly stands up and walks out. I pretend not to see the tears on his cheeks. I feel so bad, but I don’t know what to do. I panicked. I shouldn’t of freaked out, it looked like he was going to kiss me but he was most definitely just going to make me uncomfortable and get too close again. God, why am I such a fuck-up? I slam a fist against my wall, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out in pain and frustration. I’ve only known Gerard for a day, and I’m completely obsessed with him. What the fuck is wrong with me? I wrap my arms around my legs and curl up, trying to protect myself from my feelings.  
Gerard-   
I slam Frank’s door shut behind me, mentally beating myself up. How could I have been so fucking stupid? Trying to kiss him? I just met him for fuck’s sakes. I storm into my room, closing the door behind me. I hear a thud from Frankie’s room, and want to go make sure he’s okay, but then I remember he just kicked me out. I lay on the floor, glaring at my track marks. God, these are disgusting. I am disgusting.   
*STOP READING HERE IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY SELF HARM*  
I start to scratch at them, the infections burning and beginning to bleed as I irritate them. I don’t care; I just want these off my arm. I want my life to be normal. I want to be loved. Neither of those will ever happen to me though. I’m not good enough.  
I keep scratching and clawing, and my fingers start to turn a stick red from the blood pouring from the injections. My eyes burn as I cry, tears mingling with snot as I keep scratching.   
I bet he was just blushing because he was so wierded out by me being close to him. God, someone just fucking kill me. I stop scratching as the blood becomes too much and starts to drip down my arm. I reach for my hoodie and realize it is still in Frankie’s room, instead tugging a sheet off the bed to stop the bleeding. I wipe off my arm, wincing. A stronger wave of self-hatred washes over me.  
Just let me die already. Everyone would be better off if I was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for sexual tension and emotional rollercoasters!  
> feedback?  
> kthnksbyeeee  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	8. Chapter 7- Sleeping -Gerard/Frank

Chapter 7- Gerard/Frank  
I try to avoid Frank in the next few days, sinking into the shadows of this joint.   
The note that Ray gave to me remains under my bed, wrinkled from reading and re-reading. It all makes no sense. First I hear frank confessing something to Ray about a man, and then I get this note from Ray saying not to hurt Frankie. Why the fuck would I hurt him? I’m not physically strong enough to pick fights anyways.   
Late one night as I lay awake, my head spinning with thoughts and feelings I don’t understand, a small voice in the back of my head whispers to me. “You know that note isn’t about hurting him physically at all. It’s about emotionally hurting Frank. You’re just in denial, because you know you already have.”  
I crush the thought into a pulp, ignoring and denying it over and over. It still repeats in my head constantly though, no matter how much I try to destroy it.  
I can hear Frank in his room every night, screaming his head off. Scratching at spiders that aren’t there and screaming nonsense, my heart aches for him as I remember how hard I was for me when I first started using. Going even a day without a fix was torture. I try not to dwell on my past often as it brings back painful memories and feelings, but every scream ripped from Frank’s throat, every minute I know he stays up, terrified at nothing, every morning in the lunch hall when I glance at the ever-darkening circles under his eyes, all of it each brings back a flood of repressed parts of my life. Like another stitch being ripped out of its wound.  
One particularly bad night for him, that I know is right before his ‘hangover’ starts, the time of which will leave Frankie in a deteriorated state and utterly exhausted in every way, his screaming is particularly horrible. Not even Ray’s singing can calm him down. I can hear the curly haired doctor start to cry softly, watching Frank. He seems to have such a connection to Frank. He exits quietly, ignoring Frank’s screams and leaving the door open. I stare at the wall, angry at Ray for walking out on Frank in his most desperate time of need. My door is suddenly unlocked and thrown open, the door hitting the wall with a slam. I jump back, trying futilely to hide back in my sheets and pretend I am asleep, thinking it is Lindsey, who is hounding me that my sleep is important to my recovery.   
I hear a tear filled sniff coming from the doorway, and peek out over the covers. Ray stands there, trying to compose himself before he speaks. He says, mucus coating his voice, “You’re a horrible actor, Gerard. Get the fuck up and help me, please. I need you to help me.”   
I sit up, crossing my arms and looking down. Ray glances down the hall, probably looking for people awoken by Frank’s terror. He comes into my room and sits on the foot of my bed, wiping his watery and reddened eyes. “Look, Gerard, first of all you’re twenty four, don’t act like such a child. And secondly, he needs you. There’s no one he trusts, but he trusts you, a least a bit. He’s just met you, but I swear to god, he’s obsessed with you. I think you’re the only one who could help him right now, please. Get in there and save him.”   
I look at him, ashamed. “You told me not to hurt him, and I managed to fuck that up. He doesn’t want me to help him, believe me.”   
He glares at me, whispering so we aren’t heard. “His parents taught him to hate being gay and that it is wrong. He was just embarrassed you overheard us talking. He…he needs you, now! I can’t lose him.”   
Ray’s voice cracks and that decides it for me. I have to trust he is telling the truth and go to Frank. I hurriedly walk to his room, swinging on the doorframe to turn quicker. I approach Frankie, watching him convulse on the sheets and scream in horror at his hallucinations. Sitting on the edge of his bed, I wait for him to recognize me. He turns to me, first seeing through me and then his glazed eyes focus, taking me in. His scream subsides, to be replaced with sobbing and crying. I tentatively move closer, not wanting him to feel I am attacking him or forcing myself on him. He looks at me for a moment, huddled and crying, and my heart breaks. I hold out my arms for him, and he flings himself into me, clutching at my shoulders and chest.   
I hug him tightly, petting the back of his head, stroking his hair. “Shhh, Frank, Frankie, it’s gonna be okay, you’re fine, I’m fine, I’m sorry, we’re both fine. Shhhh. You’ll be fine baby.”   
Hot tears leak down my face as I hold Frank, my willpower gone. I cry with him and hold him against my chest, trying to protect him from his demons. I continue to talk to him, saying anything reassuring that comes to my mind. “You can beat them, Frankie. It’s all in your head. One day, when you’re old and wrinkled, you’ll look back on this and shake your head, wondering how it ever got this bad, how much better it is now. You can make it through this. We can make it through this.”   
His crying subsides, and I lay my head on his as he shakes, whimpering and shivering. I look down at him, giving him a sad smile. I feel his hands un-claw and he wraps his arms around my waist. I slowly pick him up, bridal style, and carry him a few steps to the head of his bed. I start to lower him, but I’m stopped as he whines quietly, an agitated sound in the back of his throat. He whispers to me in a broken, raspy voice. “…Stay with me?”   
Ray clears his throat quietly at the door. I look over to him, frozen in the process of putting Frankie down. I look at him questioningly, half hoping I can stay here, sleeping with my arms intertwined with Frank’s and half hoping he will tell me to leave, so I can pretend I am not desperately in love with this broken boy and leave, shutting out my emotions.  
He whispers to me, “I think it would be best if you slept here tonight. I don’t think either of you would be able to sleep alone right now, anyways.”  
He starts to shut the door, but sticks his head back in in a second. “You two are good for each other, you know.”   
I blush a bit after he shuts the door and I slowly lower Frank into bed. I climb into it right after him and wrap my arms back around him. He snuggles into my chest, and I notice he is wearing my hoodie I left here several nights ago, now washed and smelling like Frank does, like cigarettes and coffee. I smile and wipe any remaining tears from my face, carefully placing a kiss on Frankie’s forehead. I rest my head next to his on the pillow and drift off to sleep.   
Frank-  
I remember screaming pain, horrible anguish. Then him, Gerard. He came and saved me. Saved me when even Ray couldn’t. His arms around me. Safe, warm. Safer than I’ve ever felt before. His sweet voice in my ear. ‘Shhh, Frank, Frankie, it’s gonna be okay, you’re fine, I’m fine, I’m sorry, we’re both fine. Shhhh. You’ll be fine baby.’ I can’t fight him. His hands on my head, on my hair. His soft lips on my forehead. Keeping me safe.  
I can feel it. It’s undeniable. I can’t stay away from him. Everything about him is perfect. I can’t keep fooling myself. It’s time to face the music.  
I love Gerard.

Gerard-  
I am awoken by Ray, his gentle hand on my shoulder. Looking around, I realize that in his sleep, Frank has come to rest with his head on my chest and his hands intertwined with my own. I blush lightly at Ray’s small smile and make a move to wake Frankie. He stops me. “Gerard, he probably doesn’t remember anything from last night. It’s probably best if you leave before he wakes up and explain it to him later. Lindsey will also freak out if you’re not in your bed when she comes to wake you. ”  
I nod, feeling deep down in my stomach a shred of remorse at not being able to watch Frank wake up. I very carefully extract myself from our pile of limbs and stand up, stretching and feeling my limbs pop. Glancing look down at Frank’s sleeping form, I brush the hair off of his closed eyes and slowly walk out with Ray.  
Ray stops me in the hallway after the door has clicked shut behind us. “Thank you so much for your help last night; I didn’t know how to calm him down.” I look at him, surprised at his gratitude.   
I respond, a bit nervous to be confessing this for the first time. “It was no problem. I think….that I may be in love with Frank,” I look down at my shoes, unable to meet his eyes.  
He snorts quietly. “Yeah, I know. No offence, Gerard, but you could not possibly be more obvious.” He says, humor in his eyes.  
I roll my eyes at him and turn to enter my room, leaving Ray in the hallway to chuckle at me. Is it really that obvious? Fuck.   
I wonder if he feels the same way, after last night. I don’t know what to think of his feelings for me anymore.   
I sit down on my bed and close my eyes, imagining I am still holding Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how this chapter turned out. Thank you to all for your amazing support for this story!  
> Ray is just kind of watching this shit-storm unfold, laughing knowingly. I think he has become the dad that neither of the boys have in the story.  
> love you guys! new chapter tomorrow!  
> kthnksbyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	9. Chapter 8-Questions-Frank

Chapter 8- Frank  
I wake up late in the morning, my head fuzzy and aching. Letting out a sigh, I sit up, rubbing at my eyes and slumping against the wall. Hmm, Ray didn’t wake me up. That’s strange. I bunch up the hood on Gerard’s sweatshirt and use it as a pillow, tipping my head against the wall.   
After lazing about on my bed for a while, I realize that it’s Wednesday. Oh, motherfuck, I have therapy right now! I jump off my bed and scramble around for pants, finding a pair and tripping over the long pant legs and searching for my toothbrush. Whit no luck finding it, I say fuck oral hygiene and run out the door, stumbling as my limbs get used to working again after the night’s rest. Or lack therefore of.   
I burst into the therapy room barefoot and messy haired. Patrick and the rest of the group all turn their heads abruptly as the door I threw open slams into the wall. Looking sheepishly at the group, I take a seat in the open chair. “Uh, sorry…I overslept.”   
Patrick looks at me, smiling politely. “Oh, no problem Frank, Gerard said you’d had a rough night.” I glance over at Gerard, who is looking down at his lap and messing with his hair. Patrick continues, not noticing either of our actions. “We weren’t expecting you at all, to be honest. But better late than never, right?” I nod, relieved I’m not about to get a public lecturing.   
Patrick adjusts his hat and stands up. He rubs his palms on his thighs nervously before motioning for us all to stand up. There is a large chorus of metal chair legs scraping across the linoleum floor and we all wince. I rub the back of my neck to settle the hairs standing up on it and flip my hood up as I catch Gerard glancing at me. Oh fuck, I’ve still got his hoodie on. I mentally face palm and try to focus back on Patrick’s instructions.   
“So today guys, we’re going to work on some group exercises. Everyone partner up, first is the ever cliché trust fall.” There is a collective groan and Patrick glares at us. “I’m serious! Statistically speaking, at least two or three of you have developed serious paranoia and trust issues from your secretive addictions. This will force you to face your problems, and maybe you’ll even make a new friend you can rely on. Now partner up.”   
Everyone looks at their feet, suddenly shyer than Patrick. He sighs, and slumps back in his chair. “Find a partner, right now, or I will pick ‘em for you.”   
That was more than enough incentive for most of us, as most of the other patients just grabbed the closest person they knew the name of with a sigh. Myself and a few others were all still resolutely without a partner. He stands up, cocking his hip and sighing, while partnering up the rest of us. “Fine, you time-wasters. I’ll do it. Brendon with Ryan, Gerard with Frank, and Pete… You can be with me.”   
Why the fuck did this partnering have to be today? I finally realized that I like Gerard and I am okay with it, and now I’m going to be a blushing, stumbling mess, and literally have to fall into his arms... And I’m still wearing his fucking sweatshirt ugh fuck everything!   
Gerard strides over, hands jammed in his pockets. His confidence is absolutely gone. He glances at me sideways, looking through his eyelashes. My heart flips over in my chest. He speaks in an uncertain tone, “So, do you, uh, wanna fall first, or should I fall first?”   
“If it’s okay, you could catch me first?” I say, looking up at him. He nods quickly. “Yeah, that’s great. Fine, I mean. Fine.” I look at him, raising an eyebrow. His cheeks take on a slight color and he cards his hand through his hair, which I realize has now been washed and I am very tempted to tangle my fingers up in it. We look at each other awkwardly, tension building between us.  
Patrick seems to sense this, and steps forward to us. “So, one of you needs to fall into the other’s arms repeatedly. If this is weird or odd, maybe make conversation while doing it?” We both nod at him, and he walks away.   
I step closer to Gerard and turn around. Holding my arms out at my sides, I turn and look over my shoulder. “Ready, Gee?” I say, realizing how stupid it is I just gave him a nickname.  
I can’t see his reaction at it, however, his face hidden by his curtain of hair. He nods, and I turn back around. I close my eyes and let myself tip over, momentarily falling through air. All at once I make contact with arms that encircle me, keeping me from falling further. I open my eyes, and black hair covers my face. I tilt my head back, and I am so close to Gerard’s face that our noses are almost touching. My eyes meet his golden-hazel ones, an intense eye contact forming again. He smiles the tiniest bit, and whispers to me in a teasing tone, “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you blushing, Frankie?”   
I jerk my head back up, quickly moving out of his arms. I indignantly cover my face to hide my deepening blush. He lets out a laugh, and I glare at him from between my fingers. “Shut the fuck up, Gerard.” I hiss, trying not to draw more attention to ourselves than we already have.   
He obliges with a sassy, “Whatever you say, Princess.” I roll my eyes at him, leaning back into him again.  
I continue to fall into his arms repetitively. Each time I fall backwards I am brought a bit too close to his face for me to keep my composure, and to avoid freaking out and blushing hysterically I panic, making weird faces at him with my tongue out and eyes crossed. He starts to make faces back at me, making me bite my lip to keep from giggling.   
After five or so minutes of this, Patrick tells the group to have the partners switch positions. I stand behind Gerard, and he mirrors my earlier position. He leans back, and for a second I am worried I won’t have the strength to catch him. But as he crashes into my open arms, I realize I was concerned over nothing. I probably would not be able to lift him up, but I can let him lean onto me with ease. He bends his head backwards like I did and sticks his tongue up into the air. It pokes me on the tip of the nose and I recoil in disgust and embarrassment. “Gee, what the fuck? Put that thing away.”   
He smirks and retracts his tongue, and I heave him up to his feet again.   
After while of catching Gerard, Patrick calls us all to sit down. We all plunk into random seats, chatting quietly amongst ourselves. Patrick looks around, pleased at us. “So, that concludes our meeting for today, we will be having another session a week from now, same time, same place. Dismissed,” He tells us, signaling that therapy is over.  
Gerard comes over to me, offering me a hand out of my chair. I look at his hand for a second and take it, pulling myself out of the chair. We walk back to our rooms together, keeping a careful distance between us. Gerard is the one to break the silence. “I guess you like my hoodie then,” He motions to my chest.   
I immediately start to make excuses as to why I am wearing it. “Well, I got cold last night, so I put it on, don’t worry I’ll wash it and make sure that-” He cuts me off with a relaxed, “No, it’s fine. You can keep it. I mean, I’m wearing your clothes too.” He’s got a very valid point.   
We walk the rest of the way to our rooms in silence, and I absentmindedly follow Gerard into his room after him, forgetting that this is the part where we are meant to separate. He glances at me over his shoulder, surprised, but makes no comment.   
Gerard plunks down on his bed, and I follow suit, kicking my legs as they don’t quite reach the ground in the position I’m sitting in.   
I catch Gerard staring at me a few times as we sit in a comfortable silence, but each time I glance back at him, he averts his eyes. This happens a few times before I turn my head fast enough to catch his gaze. I look at him, laughing slightly as I ask him, “Why do you keep looking at me?”  
He does not give me a reason, and instead poses a question of his own. “Why do you blush so much?”  
I look down at my feet, ceasing to kick. I counter with another question, not seeing a better way to deflect his. “Why were you so distant these past days?”   
He looks surprised, and does not answer. “Do you remember what happened last night?”   
I freeze, shame heating up my face. I have one question left that I can throw at him. “Are you gay?”  
He looks at me for a moment, intensity and anger in his eyes. “Are you?” I can’t speak, so I just continue to train my eyes downwards. His momentary outburst calms down.  
He turns on the bed to face me. “Yes. I am gay, Frank. It should be ridiculously obvious by now.” He says quietly, unable to meet my eyes. “You answer a question, now.”  
I sit for a moment in silence, and then look up at him. “I blush all the time around you because everything you do is so honest and real. You don’t hide your emotions well at all. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and your blatancy confuses me about you, about myself.”  
We both know it is his turn to answer a question. We have unknowingly started a game, and both of us are afraid to play it.   
He continues the conversation. “I was so distant because I was afraid I had angered you, overhearing your conversation. I thought you didn’t want to see me, so I kept away from you.”  
I am both touched and hurt at the same time. “No, I was just humiliated, I projected anger. I’m sorry.”  
He nods softly. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” He pauses for a moment. “It’s your turn,” He reminds me softly.   
I take a deep breath. “I remember what happened last night. I was screaming, Ray couldn’t help me. He went to get you. You…You held me as I cried. And you cried too.” I feel my face burn as I recall the memory, it coming clearer into focus with every passing second. I can’t look at Gerard.  
I continue, “I asked you to stay with me. You kissed my forehead, and stayed with me as I slept. You weren’t there when I woke up.”   
My eyes start to water as waves of confused emotions rush over me while I replay the night in my head. “Gerard?” I ask quietly, my voice unsteady. “Yeah, Frankie?” He replies.  
“Thank you,” I whisper, tears clogging my throat. He silently moves closer to me on the bed and wraps his arms around me. I hug him back for a minute, until he clears his throat and we separate.   
Gerard stumbles on his words, trying to show me his feelings. “Frank, the reason I-The reason I always glance over at you, it’s because…Because.”   
He takes a deep breath, “Because I am in love with you Frank. I get so nervous around you, because I think you’re the only person who’s ever cared. You and I have only known each other for a week now, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. That first night, when I passed by- By your door and saw you there, in Ray’s lap, I felt like I needed to protect you, to comfort you. You’re beautiful, and funny, and nice, and I don’t know how to put my feelings for you into words. Last night, when I held you as you cried and screamed, I knew I wanted to be there for you, always. I- I love you, Frank.” He looks very uncomfortable, baring his soul to me. So honest and real.   
Gerard looks down at his lap, and I slowly tilt his chin up with one finger until he is looking at me. “Yes,” I say quietly. He looks at me, fear and confusion and pain in his eyes. I move closer to him, brushing the hair out of his eyes.  
I whisper to him, “Yes. I’m gay.”  
I brush my fingertips across his cheek, watching his hazel eyes search mine. He brings a hand up to my waist softly, pulling me ever closer to him. My eyes slowly shut, and he closes the distance between our mouths softly.   
We kiss tenderly, and I bring my hands up to Gerard’s hair, running my fingers through it. He cups my face with one hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb. His other hand still holding my waist pulls me closer and I shift without breaking the kiss to sit on his lap. He groans softly and slightly tugs at my lower lip with his teeth, drawing a quiet moan from me. His tongue slips into my mouth and mine connects with it. Our tongues dance together to a passionate rhythm as Gerard takes his hand from my cheek and tangles it in my hair, pressing my mouth harder against his.   
I let my arms slide down his body from his hair to pull at his back and shoulders as it sinks in. I am kissing Gerard Way.   
We stay like that for a few minutes, kissing and caressing one another. The kiss becomes lusty and needy as Gerard whines in the back of his throat and grabs my ass with his beautiful hands, lifting me up slightly. I groan into his mouth and wrap my arms around his shoulders, urgently needing him closer to me. Gerard slips his left arm up my shirt, and I can feel his tough track marks against my bare chest, feel the pockmarks and scabs.  
I pull apart from Gee, feeling slightly overwhelmed. We both pant, catching our breaths as he presses his forehead into mine, staring into my eyes. He smiles at me, and I return the smile, grinning tiredly as I start to come down from my kissing high.   
I kiss Gerard again, softly and sweetly on the tip of his nose. He blushes and I smile at it, caressing the side of his face. We stay like that for a while, drinking each other in.   
I could live in this moment forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smoochie smoochie. Hope you guys liked this chapter! I figured it was time to get the Frerardness going.  
> I will love you forever if you give me feedback!  
> kthnksbye,  
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	10. Chapter 9-Gerard/Ray-Black

Chapter 9- Gerard/Ray  
I…I can’t believe that just happened. My lips feel like they’re on fire, in a good way. He leans closer to me again hesitantly, and I eagerly respond. But as soon as our lips touch for the second time, the door is thrown open and Ray walks in. I panic and quickly pull away, shoving Frankie off my lap. He falls hard on the bed, glaring at me. I try to inconspicuously gesture to Ray while hiding my beet red face between my hair, and he turns around to look behind him. He shouts, “Fuck!” in embarrassment, and resumes a position of casualness.   
Ray looks at us, a smug smile on his face. “So, are you ready to talk to me or do you need a minute to compose yourselves?”   
Frank laughs a bit too loudly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ray,” He says, his lack of acting skills showing blatantly. I hide my face in my hands, embarrassed at the entire situation.   
Ray continues, seeing right through our pitiful excuses. “Well, Frank, both yours and Gerard’s hair is extremely messy, your shirt is hiked up past your bellybutton, your pupils are dilated, you were sitting on Gerard’s lap when I walked in, and your ‘friend’ here is currently hiding his wildly blushing face. So I am pretty sure you do, in fact, have an idea about what I’m talking about.” Frankie looks down in shame. Ray clears his throat, “I’m happy for you two, it’s about time this happened. Just be careful, you need to be protected,” He says, taking on a serious tone. Frank and I both look up at Ray, mortified that he is giving us a speech about this.   
We both start to yell at him in unison, “Ray, that is NOT your concern-” “-You think we don’t know what STD’s are?” “You wipe that stupid smirk off your face!-” “-I can’t believe this happened. Oh God.” “-You’re only like ten years older than me anyways, Ray.”   
He sits down in between us, holding up his arms. “Shut. Up. I was kidding, no need to go apeshit on me. I won’t tell anyone, okay? Your secret is safe with me.”  
I hear Frank exhale in relief, and I, too, release a breath I was not aware I was holding in. Frank quickly asks Ray a question, changing the subject. “So, where were you this morning? I was super late for therapy.”   
Ray looks down, fiddling with a button on his doctor’s coat. “I, uh, had to visit someone. An old friend.”  
I look at him curiously. “Who’s your friend?” He clears his throat, and speaks in a quiet voice, “Her name was Nia. She was in this same place a few years ago. I brought her flowers.”   
Frank keeps speaking, oblivious to Ray’s use of past tense. “Aw, that’s sweet. What does she look like?”  
“She’s dead. She committed suicide three years ago, today.”  
A heavy silence hangs in the air, and I know that Frank is regretting asking. “…I’m sorry, Ray.”  
He looks up, staring through the present to something different. 

Ray-  
Nia woke up early that day. I didn’t notice how distracted she was. Her hallucinations were getting worse at night, and her reality was blurring into fiction. She didn’t eat, or sleep for the days leading up to it, no matter how much I coaxed her to. I knew she had a past in self-mutilation; her arms were proof enough of that. I never thought I would get that bad for her without her telling me first.  
I had brought her her breakfast from the cafeteria that morning, seeing as she was in no state to be around other people. As I opened the door, I called out to her. “Nia, c’mon, gotta wake up now. I brought you food, wanna try eating something?” I looked up, expecting to see her in her bed, curly red hair covering her fitfully sleeping face. I instead saw an empty bed and a smashed window. The tray I was holding crashed to the ground, the plate and cup shattering at contact with the hard floor.  
I ran to the window, looking out to the ground below. Her body laid face down, arms and legs bent out at unnatural angles, her neck impaled by a shard of glass. Covered in a pool of blood. I let out a sob, my face contorting in unspeakable grief as I screamed, screamed an inhuman sound that brought other doctors running to see what happened.  
Being pulled away from the window. Restrained by strong arms that kept me from her. My fault, all my fault. If I’d just come earlier, she would be here. I could have stopped her. My entire fault. Screaming, fighting. Yelling. Sobbing. Darkness.  
They carried her body to the morgue in a black bag. She hated black. Always said it was too depressing and ugly. She was right.   
I start at Gerard’s hand on my shoulder, shaking me lightly. I rub my eyes, clearing them of the few tears that have fallen. He exchanges a glance with Frank, communicating in the silence.   
I look at them. “She had pale skin, so pale. Dark Brown eyes that reflected the light around her beautifully. Fire engine red dyed hair, black roots showing through. A crooked front tooth that showed when she smiled. A soft and sweet voice, light and airy. I…I loved her,” I say to them as more tears well in my eyes, fighting to escape.   
“Her addiction overtook her. She became one with the drug. She needed to escape. There was only one way out… She didn’t leave a note.” I bite my lip aggressively to keep my tears contained, but it is in vain, as they start to trickle down my face.   
There is silence for a while, my tears falling. After a while, Gerard clears his throat and begins to speak. “I know how you feel. My brother killed himself when he was fifteen. He was bullied, physically and vocally. I was too busy to notice it. I miss him and blame myself for not being there for him every day. He was the only one who cared.” Gerard puts his arm around me, rubbing my shoulder reassuringly.  
He says to me quietly, “Everyone’s got baggage, Ray.” Frank pats my leg comfortingly. I nod silently.  
I think back to a few hours ago, when I visited her grave. She would have loved those flowers I left for her. They were in every color I could find.

Except black. She hated black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this okay? ugh, I hate this chapter. I've written it three times, this is the best draft.  
>  (Nia Lovelis is the fucking hottest btw. Look her up.)  
> Kthnksforputtingupwithmebyeeeeeeeeee  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	11. Chapter Ten- "Mikey"- Frank

Chapter 10- Frank  
I sit in silence, trying to console Ray. The best thing I could do was awkwardly pat his leg in condolence. I have no idea how to help him; I’ve never seen him like this. He’s my doctor; I’m the one who is meant to be comforted in this relationship. He lifts his head out of his hands, wiping the tears off his face. He takes a moment to compose himself and I shoot Gerard a look behind Ray’s back. ‘What should we do?’ I try to say with my eyes. He glances back at me in a way that I can only interpret as, ‘Hell if I know.”  
Ray clears his throat and says, “She’s in a better place now, right?” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as tell us.   
Gerard and I both agree heartily, nodding and saying words of affirmation. He seems to perk up a bit, and pushes himself off the bed to stand. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay after last night, Frank. I’m sorry to come in here and unload all my problems on you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it, I guess.” He smiles, it not quite reaching his eyes.   
I look at him hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ray? If you need to talk, you can talk to us.”   
He glances between Gerard and me, shaking his head slowly. “No, I’m fine. I think you two have some things you should probably work out.” I catch Gerard’s gaze for a moment, and his face is cheeks are heated.   
I look up at Ray. “Okay…Yeah, sure.” He starts to walk out the door, and I call out to him before he closes it. “Ray? Can you…knock from now on?”  
He lets out a small guffaw. “Yes, I will knock, Frank.” He walks out, Gerard and I both embarrassed.   
After a lengthy silence, I speak. “You had a brother that killed himself?”  
He sighs, drawing his knees up to his chin on the bed. “Yeah, his name was Michael. I called him Mikey for short.” I scoot over to Gerard, resting my head on my shoulder. He puts his own on top of my head.  
“What was he like?” I ask tentatively, hoping I will not have another crying man on my hands. He just sighs heavily and begins to paint a visual picture. “He was tall for his age, and very lanky. Just the opposite of me growing up, in more than just build. No one ever thought we were brothers, the chubby vampire and the lanky loner. He had the worst vision, and had coke-bottle glasses. He straightened his hair until it was fucking fried and stuck it in and out of his frames at odd angles.” His face takes on a strange tilted smile as he recalls his brother, bittersweet memories flooding his head.  
“He had the most serious face, almost never smiling. But when he did smile…It lit up the room. It’s my fault he was bullied. I was always pretty open about my orientation, and he was known throughout his school years as ‘the emo faggot’s little brother’. He never really had any friends and was a lone wolf. He preferred fiction and music to people and life. This made him an easy target for bullies. I was too wrapped up in my vices, alcohol and pills, to realize just how may bruises that covered his body. How many scars that laced his arms.” I can hear that his voice is thick with tears and his odd smile gone. I gently kiss his cheek, looking up at him silently.   
“He left a note. It was just mere sentences long. All it said was, ‘Sometimes I think I’d love to die alone, live and breathe and die alone.’ He opened up his wrists in the bathtub. I was nineteen. It was all my fault. If I had just been there, or noticed, or listened without being so fucking selfish, he would-” I stop his sentence there, covering his mouth with my hand.   
“It’s not your fault, Gerard. You can’t beat yourself up over it. What’s done is done, and we just have to live with it. Suicide was his choice, and as much as it pains me to say it and you don’t want to hear it, if he had truly wanted to die he would have killed himself anyways, with or without you being there for him. Okay?” He nods, unable to speak. I hope I said the right thing to him and he’s calmed down. I keep my hand on his mouth absentmindedly until he licks my palm, reminding me my hand is constricting his speech and breath. I recoil immediately, wiping my hand on his chest in disgust.   
He lets out a small snort and rolls his eyes at me. “Come on; am I that gross, Frankie?”   
I scoff, wrapping my arms loosely around his waist. “No, it’s just that I don’t particularly enjoy your saliva on my hand.”  
He responds, a sly smile slowly creeping onto his face. “Oh. Well in that case…Would you prefer my saliva on some other part of you?” He winks at me, shifting me so I’m facing him. My face heats up as I realize the sexual nature of that question. He wriggles his eyebrows at me over-exaggeratedly and I am gone, unable to look him in the eye. I groan and hide my face in his clothed chest. He pats the back of my head while giggling softly. “You fucking cutie,” He whispers to me, bending over me slightly.   
After some time, when I am confident my face has returned to normal human color and no longer resembles a tomato, I remove my face from Gerard’s chest. I look at him accusingly. “You go from on the verge of tears to giggling in, like, thirty seconds. That’s pretty odd.”   
He mimics my accusatory look for a second, and then leans back against the wall. “What can I say? I’m a passionate person. When I feel, I really feel. It’s either about to cry or I’m giggling, there’s no grey area with me.” He pulls me into his lap, in a similar position to when we were kissing before.   
He leans close to me. “I fall hard for someone or I don’t fall for them at all.”   
I slide forward on his lap until our lips are just barely touching. I speak in a breathy tone, sharing air with Gerard. “Should I be flattered at that statement or worried?”   
He chuckles in the back of his throat a deep, reverberating sound I can feel. Picking me up off of his lap, he lays me down on the bed. He climbs over on top of me, legs and hands on either side of me, smirking. “Yes,” He says plainly. Before I can begin to understand his answer his lips meet mine softly and innocently.  
My confusion at his answer flies out the window, forgotten with the taste of Gee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to school in like 2 minutes just woke up aghhhhhhhhh responsibilities
> 
> Kthnksbyee  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	12. Chapter 11- Jail- Gerard- *WARNING SMUT*

Chapter 11- Gerard  
I am awoken the next morning by Lindsey with a small smile on my face, some of the events of yesterday rushing back to me. As I sit up and brush my hardcore bedhead away from my eyes, I catch Lindsey staring at me with an amused expression on her face. I mimic her stare and then relax again back into my half-awake state. “What’s with the look?” I ask, yawning.   
She says nothing for a moment and then smiles slightly. “You talk in your sleep. About Frank.” Well that’s embarrassing. I shrug at her noncommittally. “It wasn’t sexual….Right?”   
She starts to laugh and rolls her eyes. “It was not sexual, Gerard. And I expect you to keep it like that. He’s only nineteen.” I grunt and toss my pillow at her. She catches it and the pillow is thrown back at me, hitting me in the face.  
She smirks and turns to leave. I stop her, a question popping into my head. “Are you still afraid of me, Lindsey?”   
She pauses at the door. “Well, the first night you came here to me in handcuffs, I won’t lie; I was slightly concerned for my safety. But you aren’t nearly as mysterious and brooding as you let on, and you probably couldn’t kill a bug. Am I right?”   
I scoff, secretly a bit frustrated she isn’t scared by me anymore. “I have lived on the streets for four years. I can kill bugs. And other things too.” I try to intimidate her a bit.   
“…Uh huh.” She does not make an effort to look convinced. She adds as she walks out the door, “By the way, that Officer who brought you here would like a word with you regarding…future arrangements. He’s waiting for you to get dressed.” She leaves.  
So I have to go march down to see how long I’ll be locked up with a bunch of sadistic assholes, all of them repressed homosexuals waiting for me to ‘drop the soap’. And on top of that I get to have a chat with the always lovely Officer Peterson. Someone shoot me now.  
I dress as slowly as possible, putting on and taking my shirt off repeatedly. When I can put it off no longer, I open up the door slowly. Standing outside the door impatiently is Peterson. He probably has a first name, but neither I neither need to nor care enough to find out what it is. He smiles at me, sarcasm dripping off him. “Mr. Way, what a pleasure to see you again.”   
I glare at him, falling back against the door. “Yeah, it’s great to see you too. Now cut the shit. How long do I have to serve? Two months? Three?”   
He chuckles, looking me up and down. His gaze makes me feel naked and I cross my arms. “You really are an idiot, Gerard. Don’t you even know what the penalty for possession, sale, or use of heroin is?” I refuse to meet his eyes, staring above his head in defiance.  
He continues, “It’s one year jail time, minimum.”   
I can feel my stomach drop to my feet. “Are you kidding me? For a first offense? That is Fucking Bullshit,” I say, my raising my voice to hide the tremble in it.  
He rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself. Soon enough you’ll be back to the streets, sucking a dick for your fix and not leeching off taxpayer’s money anymore. I mean, that’s if you’re not shanked in jail.”   
I clench my jaw and fists, hatred bubbling up inside me. “You are the worst cop I have ever met. It’s your job to enforce law, not insult and degrade citizens, you fucking miserable excuse for a man!” I shout the end of my sentence, and I can hear a door creak open behind me.   
I turn, and Frank stands at his open door, looking between me and Peterson with wide eyes. Oh god, Frank walk away, close the door, pretend you never saw this. I apparently can’t control other’s minds because he says in a small voice, “Uh, Gee….Is everything okay?”   
I cuss under my breath. “Yea, it’s fine Frank. Go back in your room,” I say quietly, not making eye contact with the police officer in the hopes he won’t think anything of our exchange. Frankie nods silently and closes the door.   
It takes Peterson a second to process any of this. Slowly, a malicious smile spreads over his face. He says in a mocking tone, “ ‘Gee?’ Aww. That’s just the cutest thing. You know, it’s almost like he’s your boyfriend,” He sneers the word boyfriend, and I glower at him with hate.   
“You have no business with him. And he’s not my boyfriend, for your fuckin’ information,” I say, stepping closer to him. He knows now that he has touched a nerve, and I can see by his eyes that he intends to use it to his advantage.   
“Oh, but the way he looks at you…You two are fucking faggots. I could arrest him too, for drug use. Or harassment of an officer, or theft… Anything, really. That might hurt you more than your own jail time…His jail time. And such a young boy too, he would be screwed. Quite literally.”   
I lose my shreds of composure at his threatening words. “You hurt so much as a single hair on Frankie’s head, and I will FUCKING KILL YOU,” I scream in his face, slamming him against the wall and rearing my fist back to punch him.  
He is shocked at my outburst, but recovers quickly and in a second his gun barrel is pressed to my head. I freeze, seconds away from breaking his nose or giving him a black eye. He looks at me and loads a bullet into the gun, tightening his finger on the trigger. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the bang to go off and my life to end. Instead, he glares at me, and says menacingly, “Let go of me and get the fuck out of my sight, you cunt.” I release him slowly and he walks away briskly, not holstering his gun until he goes through the doors back to the police part of the building.   
I let out a shaky breath, and turn around to Frank’s door. He immediately opens it and runs to me, throwing his arms around me tightly. I return the embrace with equal intensity, and we stand there for a minute, holding each other as tightly as possible. “You heard?” I whisper to him.   
“Every word,” He breathes. “Oh my god, he was going to shoot you, you were-” I silence him by hoisting his legs up, and he wraps them around my hips. I carry him into his room, shutting the door with my foot. He keeps his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist, refusing to let go of me. “I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me. He’s just a fucking asshole cop,” I say, trying to calm both our racing hearts. He shakes his head violently. “He was going to kill you, Gee,” He whispers.   
I look at him, “How do you know that? I told you to go back in your room,” I say, worried that he would have gotten hurt too. He looks sheepish, and won’t meet my eyes. “Well, I was in my room. I just kept the door open a little bit to make sure you were okay.”  
I lift him a bit higher, sliding a hand under his ass to support him. “I only freaked out because he was threatening to put you in jail too.”   
“Well, you need to learn to keep your fucking temper. I don’t want to lose you over you getting a hot head,” He whispers, resting his head on my shoulder.   
We stand like that in silence, listening to each other’s heartbeats. After a while, Frank lifts his head up and looks me in the eyes, talking in a normal volume, if only still a bit shaky.. “So… You said I wasn’t your boyfriend.”   
I look at him, surprised he remembered I said that. “Well, it’s not like we really talked about it.”  
He nods, “Yeah, true.” We both look at each other, and he bites his lip slightly. Fuck, that looks so hot.  
I realize he is waiting for me to ask him. I take a deep breath, and pop the question. “…You don’t have to say yes, but... Do you want to be my boyfriend, Frankie?”   
His face lights up with a smile, only small traces of his previous fear visible. “I thought you’d never ask.” The worry in his eyes is gone, and I am glad I was able to distract him from what happened.  
I smile, trying to push down my nerves from my encounter with Peterson. The nagging voice in my head is reminding me what little time I have with Frank before I go to jail.   
With the burst of confidence from Frankie looking so happy that I asked him to be with me, I lightly squeeze his ass. He jumps in my arms slightly, and looks at me, surprised. I start to second guess my action and look down. He leans in close to me, and whispers with half-lidded eyes, “Just kiss me, you dork.”  
I look up at him, happy to oblige. I press my lips to his, tilting my head to make our mouths fit together perfectly. He eagerly responds, opening his mouth and pushing at the entrance of mine with his tongue. I grant him access, and our tongues battle for dominance. I let him win and I can feel him giggle a bit into the kiss. I walk us over to the door and press him against it, Frank’s legs tightening around my hips. I feel his hand flutter over my neck, then come to rest firmly, keeping us locked together. As if I would ever pull apart from this willingly.  
I push him harder against the door, grinding my clothed crotch against his roughly. He moans into my mouth and I tangle my hands in his thick black hair. We both intensify the kiss, making it all clashing teeth and sloppy lust. I feel my erection growing and moan in pain and pleasure as Frankie slightly bucks his hard-on against mine.  
I gently reach down to the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, grinning into Frank’s mouth as I lightly run my fingers over his ribcage, feeling his skin prickle with goose bumps. I break the kiss and he starts to whine slightly but the needy sound in the back of his throat turns into a deep groan as I start to kiss and suck on his pale neck. Frank lustfully whispers to me, “Oh, fuck Gee, so hot. Feels so good. I thought about this the other day.”   
I make an appreciative noise and nibble on his earlobe. His back arches off the door and he cries out in pleasure, his erection fully coming to attention. I found his sweet spot. His hands fumble to shakily pull my own shirt off, and I help take it off and throw it to hell knows where as I move my mouth down, sucking on his collarbone and using a hand to tease one of his nipples.   
I make eye contact with Frankie, his face contorted and mouth opened with pleasure. I detach my mouth from him and slowly lower him from my waist to a standing position. His legs nearly give way, and I hold him up, my hands on his hips. I look down at him, smiling and whispering into his ear, “You have no idea how sexy you look moaning and shirtless. I’m so hard for you.”  
He blushes a deep red and trails a hand down slowly to the waistband of my pants. “I don’t want to go… all the way tonight, but I would love to get you off.” He cups my boner through my jeans and I quietly moan.   
“I won’t do anything you don’t want to do, sugar. We can save that for another time,” I say, and he nods whole heartedly.   
His hand slips inside my pants and boxers and loosely wraps around my cock. I moan and rest on his shoulder, kissing his neck. He hisses out a breath and brushes his thumb over my head, my precum wetting his fingers. I can feel him focusing intensely and whisper in his ear, “Relax honey, anything you do to me feels amazing.” He starts to pump me slowly and I bite his earlobe to keep a whimper contained. He looks at me, “Really? I have no idea what I’m doing.”  
I nod to him and slip my own hand into his pants, connecting my lips with his softly. I twist my wrist at his base and begin to move my hand up and down slowly. He lets out a squeak of pleasure and lets his head fall back, breathing heavily as he does the same to me “That’s it, just follow my lead. You are so fucking gorgeous, Frank,” I say into his mouth.   
We continue to pump each other, slowly gaining speed. I can feel a tension start to build up in the pit of my stomach, and I heave a breath in. Frank feels it too, judging by his jerking hips and incoherent stutters.   
“Fuck, Gee, I- I’m gonna cum,” He says, voice high pitched and strained. His hand speeds up on me, and I am in danger of cumming at any second. I reply to him, my breath catching in my throat. “Me too, Frankie.”  
He starts to move his hand on my leaking erection impossibly fast as he cums, his body twitching and his breath spastic. His hot seed spills onto my hand, and that is enough to thrust me into my orgasm. I kiss him roughly, biting his bottom lip enough to draw blood. My knees go weak as I cum into his palm, and I slump onto his shoulder. He, too, is weak from his orgasm and can’t support us both. He slumps to the ground and I go with him, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. I notice his lip is bleeding, and sit in front of him, slowly kissing and licking his lip better. “Shit, did I do that?” I ask, realizing I bit him a little too hard.   
He blushes slightly. “Yeah. But it’s fine, I like it when you’re rough.” I look at him, raising an eyebrow.   
“Little bit of a masochist, are we now?” I say, teasing him slightly. He looks down, his cheeks burning. I get close to him and whisper into his ear, “I can be pretty sadistic now and then.”   
He chuckles softly. “You’re just a dork.” I nod, because that is completely true.   
“Yes, but I’m a dork who just had sex with you. You’ve been infected with my dorkiness.” I wave my hands around, earning an eye roll. I start to tickle him, and he falls onto my lap, giggling and flinching.   
I let him catch his breath and kiss his forehead gently. I look deep into his eyes. “I love you, Frankie.”  
He smiles and replies, “I love you too, Gee.”  
We sit like that for a while, just smiling at each other.  
Eventually I heave myself up to my feet, offering a hand to pull Frank up. “C’mon, babe. We need some clean pants.”   
Frank snorts and nods enthusiastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erhmagawd the Frerard.  
> (I wrote the entirety of the sexytimes in a car driven by my mother with my kid sister sitting next to me. Nerves of steel)
> 
> is it okay? idk how a penis works sorry.  
> feedback is the nectar of the gods.  
> kthnksbyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee  
> XXX MourningGlory XXX


	13. AUTHORS NOTE NOT A CHAPTER

I’m so sorry, but there will not be any posts until at least Thursday night. I have been busy as fuck, my computer is filled with viruses, I got a girlfriend, my sister got sick… Yeah. So look forward to another chapter! (also there is no longer any feedback from this story, all the comments and stuff stopped, why? is there anything you guys would like me to do differently?) 

kthnksbyeee  
XXX Mourning Glory XXX


	14. Chapter 12- Arts and Crafts-Frank

Chapter 12- Frank  
After Gerard picks me up off the floor and my adrenaline dies down, I am in shock. I just… I just had sex with Gerard. I become very shy and can’t quite meet Gee’s eyes. Walking over to the corner of my room, I grab a semi-clean shirt and toss it to the shirtless man looking at me expectantly. He catches it and pulls down his dirtied pants and boxers, cleaning himself as best he can. I blush at the sight of his nude body and busy myself with the cleaning of my own mess.   
Gerard keeps trying to make eye contact with me. I look at him for a second, my cheeks burning, and then I hide my face with a flick of my head, the front of my hair shielding me.   
I feel a hand cup my face tenderly. “Frankie, did I do something wrong?” Gerard asks softly, looking down at me. I nuzzle his hand, taking in his smell of smoke and sex.   
“No, I just…I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.” His eyes widen. “You mean…Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?!? We should have gone much slower,” He says, sounding upset.   
I shake my head forcefully. “No, it was perfect. I just am having trouble adjusting to this a little bit,” I say, leaning into his chest. Gerard’s arms circle around me and he pecks me lightly on the tip of my nose. I smile slightly and we stand like that for a while, holding each other.   
There is a knock at the door. Gerard and I jump away from each other, frantically pulling clothes on. Ray’s voice wafts in from the hallway, muted by the closed door. “Are dicks covered?” He asks, the eye rolling evident in his voice.   
I call out to him, “Uh, define covered.” Gerard smirks as he slips a shirt on.   
Ray waits outside the door, sighing audibly. He gives us a warning, “I’m coming in in three seconds.”  
We scramble to put the rest of our clothes on, Gerard with his shirt and me with my pants. Ray opens the door to find us both three-quarters dressed and with ruffled hair. I realize that my boxers are on backwards and my pants are on inside out. My face heats up rapidly and Gerard whistles inconspicuously. Ray makes a grossed out face at us and closes his eyes. “I leave you two alone and this happens.”   
I hide my face in my hands. “What is it that you need, Ray?” I ask, mortified.   
He replies, “Well, today arts and crafts has been added to your schedule, so twice a week you have to go to room 22 and be creative for 45 minutes. Self-expression is key to a successful rehabilitation. So just get dressed, the right way, and go find room 22, okay?”  
He looks at both of us, and we nod. As he walks out he tosses a casual remark over his shoulder, “Hey, at least I’m not your parents who walked in on you, Frank.” He means for it to be lighthearted, an attempt to ease us in our state of embarrassment, but I immediately feel a stab of terror at the thought of what my parents would think of me right now. I swallow harshly, trying to remind myself that my parents are not, in fact, judging my every move currently.  
Gee and I awkwardly put on our clothes the right way, exchanging better fitting shirts with each other. When we both look fairly normal, Gerard reaches over and gives my hand a slight squeeze. “Ready to go?” He asks. I look up at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply dryly. He chuckles at me and I roll my eyes, walking out the door with him.   
“I am absolutely shit at drawing,” I announce as we near room 22, after getting lost in the drab corridors for what seemed like hours. He lets out a loud laugh, it echoing off the linoleum. I look up at him, equally amused and startled. “What?” I say, wondering what I had done.   
He looks highly amused. “Nothing, it was just extremely out of context,” He says. I just roll my eyes at how odd he is.   
We walk into the room and immediately let go of each other’s hands, remembering Ray’s warning from a few days ago. A tall woman with dark hair comes over to us and tells us to find a seat and just draw whatever we want, seeing as this is ‘a creative place free of judgment’. Okay, sure.  
The only two seats left are on opposite sides of the room, the space in between blocked with figures huddled over artwork in various shades of messiness. Gerard leans over and quickly kisses my cheek as a goodbye, walking away. I turn a dark shade of vermillion and pray no one saw that while taking my own seat.  
I wasn’t kidding when I said I was shit at drawing. It becomes increasingly obvious as I fiddle with various colored pencils that I have no idea with what to illustrate. I crane my neck to look at Gerard across the room. He is drawing feverishly, enthralled in his work. I heave out an exasperated sigh and lay my head against the cool surface of the table, closing my eyes and trying to sort out all the thoughts and emotions whirling through my head.   
This week has been chaos. My parents hate me. But Gerard loves me. I really need a fuckin’ fix. It has been too long. Ray is still upset by Nia’s suicide, I can tell. God, how am I gay? Dad will disown me. Did he already disown me? Fuck, I don’t know. I just practically had sex. Ugh everything makes no sense. I need meth.  
Realizing thinking and stewing over my problems will help nothing, I open my eyes. There is a girl with light brown eyes and short hair sitting next to and staring at me, a worried expression on her face. “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, her voice breathy and soft.  
I push my head off the table and smooth my hair off my face. I say with a groan, “Yeah, I just don’t know what draw and my life is a mess right now.”   
She smiles and tilts her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, well join the club,” She looks at me after a moment, her eyes scanning mine. “I’m Jamia,” She says, sticking out her hand to shake mine. She seems nice enough, and I decide I can get along with her.   
“Frank.” I say simply, loosely shaking her hand.   
There is a silence and we both stare at her piece of paper. She has drawn a fairly good picture of what I think is a prescription pill bottle, blood and ink swirling inside and filling it up, dripping over the side. I move my chair closer to hers, tracing the picture with my fingertips lightly. “Hey, that’s pretty good,” I say, trying to be friendly.   
She looks down at it, hesitantly saying, “Really? I just drew what got me here in the first place.”   
Assuming she means pills, I nod silently. She says after a while, “Just draw the first thing that pops into your head.”  
Taking her advice, I empty my mind. Immediately, the image of the Jesus figurine I smashed against my wall appears in my mind’s eye. I turn to her one last time, “Thanks Jamia.”   
She smiles softly. “No problem,” She gets out of her chair, leaving me alone. It is only when she is almost at the door that a small piece of paper is thrown at my head. It bounces off me and lands on the table. I glance over at the door, but she has already disappeared and left. I smooth out the note. In small, smooth handwriting is the words ‘I saw that vampire guy kiss you on the cheek. You two are cute together.’ I quickly ball the note up and shove it in my pocket, smiling to myself and shaking my head.  
I grab the nearest black colored pencil and start to sketch out the smashed wall hanging, the image in my head as clear as a picture.   
I tinge the broken face of the small Jesus with dark red, as if it were blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, bitches. (Youguysarenotreallybitchesijustwannabepunksorry)  
> It has been far too long, I am so sorry. New chapter up tomorrow or Monday.
> 
> Can we just have a moment of silence? It has been 365 days since My Chemical Romance has left. But they will stay in our hearts forever.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading,  
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	15. Chapter 13-Baggage-Frank

Chapter 13

Frank

Soon after I decide my drawing is as good as it’s going to get, the lady that welcomed us to the art room claps her hands and gestures to pay attention to her. “Attention, artists!” She trills. I choke back a laugh at her choice of titles for us.   
She continues, “That’s all the time we have for today, but the art room is always open to you when your creativity strikes! Feel free to wander in and channel your emotions anytime.”   
There are snorts of laughter at her eccentricity as chairs are scraped back and collectively most of the rehab patients stand up.   
I weave through the crowd of people slightly confused as to where to go, to reach Gerard’s side. He is still in his chair and bent over his drawing, sketching furiously. I stay several feet away until the room is mostly emptied, just a few stragglers milling about, not paying attention to the two of us. Having a moment of blind courage, I slowly approach Gerard and quickly peck him on his cheek, stepping back just as fast afterwards. He jerks up, looking around. His eyes fall on me and I can just barely see his pink-tinged face before he shakes his head and his ink black hair falls into his face and covers the majority of it. I roll my eyes at him. “You look like a fucking sheepdog with that haircut, Gee,” I declare, sitting backwards in the chair next to him. The room is now empty besides us.  
He rolls his eyes right back, half in mimicry. “Hello to you too, Frankie. And it’s been years since my hair has been cut, I don’t think this qualifies.” I brush it out of his face slowly, expressionless. He raises an eyebrow at me and laughs a bit nervously. “Uh, can I help you?” He says. I can tell he’s starting to become a bit uncomfortable under my gaze. I ask in a low voice, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”   
He avoids my eyes and laughs, a hollow and dry sound. “Yeah, sure.”   
Frowning, I scoot my chair closer to his and softly hold his chin, making his eyes meet mine. “You don’t believe me,” I say, a statement more than a question.   
He huffs out air, a harsh exhale. “Well, of course I don’t believe you! I’m skinny as fuck, pale enough to be dead, my arm resembles a murder scene, my nose looks like it should be on a fucking fairy, you deserve so much- mph.” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his firmly, trying to show him all my feelings for him with this kiss. He relaxes from his rant on himself, loosely looping his arms around my neck and leaning forward. I bring a hand up to his neck and softly stroke his pale skin with my thumb. We stay like that for awhile, showing our love for each other with a passionate yet pure kiss.   
Our lips disconnect when there is a need for air. Gerard starts to open his mouth, probably to continue to hate himself, but I lightly place my finger over his lips to stop his words, speaking myself. “You are perfect, whether or not you can see that. It pains me to hear you bash yourself like that. Don’t do it, please.”   
I take my finger away from his mouth. He hunches over and says in a tired voice, “I don’t deserve you.”   
I glare at him and hop out of the chair to sit on his lap. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll have to kiss you again,” I say, hating that he thinks he is not good enough for me. If anything, it’s the other way around. He looks up at me, lacing his arms around my waist. “Is that meant to be a threat? That’s a fucking shitty threat, Frankie.”   
I choose to ignore his remark and change the subject, “What were you drawing?” I ask, trying to look over his shoulder to see his illustration. He turns to pick it up and hands it to me. “It’s not much, we only had about fifteen minutes after all.”   
On the paper is a black and red sketch of a face, half Gerard’s and half a bloodied and fanged repulsive creature. Scrawled across the bottom of the paper are the words ‘I Am A Monster’. The detail is amazing, right down to the creases on his perfect pink lips and the shine in a drop of blood. It is beautifully horrible, or horribly beautiful, I cannot decide. He’s a stunning artist. I tell him that, and he blushes, putting his head on my shoulder and nonverbally disagreeing.   
After studying the artwork, I ask him a question. “Gerard, why do think like this?” I say quietly, leaning against his chest.   
I can feel him tense up. “Think like what?’ He asks, overtly nonchalantly. I poke him in the chest accusingly. “You know what I mean.” He ignores me.   
“Why do you hate yourself?” I ask him, casting my eyes at the door to make sure no one walks in.   
He rests his head on mine. “Sugar, that’s a long story,” He sighs.   
I reply, “I’ve got time. I’m not fucking going anywhere.”  
He draws in a deep and barely shaky breath. I can feel his chest expand against mine. “Well, to start off, I think I was an accident. My parents didn’t particularly like me or make an effort to be supportive of their firstborn child. I told them I was gay when I was 13, and they were so ashamed of me. My father couldn’t even lay eyes on me. I… In middle and high school I turned to relationships to give me self worth. I was an easy target for school bullies, and I always was being used for some massive jock’s questioning. Forcing me to give them blowjobs in a storage closet, and then calling me a faggot the whole time. Things like that. And I let them use me, because I ‘loved’ them. You don’t know what that does to you, month after month, year after year.   
My grandmother Elena was the one who really raised me, and the one who I turned to when I was upset or angry. She accepted me, homosexuality and all. Mikey and I were both really close to her.  
She died when I was eighteen, the year before Mikey killed himself. We were both so alone. I holed myself up in my basement room and shut the world out. My brother was getting bullied, I knew that. But I...I was selfish, and stayed out of the bullies way so I wouldn’t be hurt too. I always the emo faggot. I pretended not to notice the signs. A split lip here, a bruise there...I drowned it all out selfishly in alcohol and painkiller pills. My brother has started cutting. First on his hips, then he moved on to his thighs, and then finally his wrists. He just needed some….someone to talk to, who would listen…”   
Gerard’s voice cracks and breaks, and I hug him tightly. He takes a few deep breaths and continues, with his eyes screwed tightly shut.   
“You already know he killed himself. My parents were the ones to find him. They came down to my room in the basement, and told me that it was my fault, that I as the reason he was dead, that I was such a bad influence. They kicked me out.   
I had no money, no savings, no place to go. So I went to the only person I could go to. My boyfriend at the time, Bert. I had just barely gotten out of high school, there was no direction in my life. I moved in with him into his shitty apartment.   
“I knew that he was involved in the local drug trade but I had never actually saw him dealing or using. The first night I stayed at his house, he offered to give me a fix of heroin. I was tired of feeling the pain and disappointment that has consumed my life as of recently, so I decided not to feel at all. I tried heroin for the first time that night.  
“At first it was weird, like it almost wasn’t working. Just fuzzy around the edges of my vision. Then it came all at once, I was flying, higher than I ever had with the pills or alcohol. I was completely weightless. All my problems were gone, and it seemed like they would never come back.   
But they did. Worse than before. With additional shakes and vomiting and a fever that kept spiking. I thought I was going to die. I needed more, to feel alright again. Bert told me that the first fix was free, but I had to pay him from there on out. But...I had no money. So my body had to do. He grew abusive. I let him use me, until one night, I couldn’t take all the violent slaps and high fucks. I left him. He was...Is still my dealer, and unless I could pay, he’d do things to me. The night before I got brought here, he beat me up harder than ever before. Hence the black eye and bruises I had.”  
I inhale air sharply at the horribleness of it all, how roughly Gerard was treated by Bert. He looks up at my sound of breath, and I can tell my facial expression is interpreted the wrong way. His eyes well up and start to spill over with tears.   
He speaks in a broken tone, “I’m sorry, I know you probably hate me.I’m filthy and horrible.” I frown at him and kiss away his tears cascading down his cheeks, wiping at one of his eyes gently with my thumb. “No, you’re perfect. Everyone’s got baggage.” I cradle my face in his hands, forcing eye contact.  
“And what did I just say about bashing yourself?” I ask, frowning slightly. He looks down. I give him a tiny peck on the tip of his nose.  
I stroke the side of his face gently, and look, really look, deep into his eyes. “I love you, Gee,” I say quietly.   
He smiles sadly, sniffling. “I love you too, Frankie.”   
I rest my head on his shoulder and play with his messy black hair, trying to help him calm down a bit. After a while of this, I speak quietly.   
“My story is not nearly as tragic as yours. My parents are your standard middle aged couple, living in the suburbs with their quaint little house and white picket fence. But they have issues, far more than most other families do.   
“They are wildly religious. And I don’t mean just a prayer before meals, no. I’m talking six hour long mass on Sundays, lengthy bible studies Monday through Thursday nights, memorizing entire stanzas and randomly interjecting them into everyday life, rosaries everywhere.”   
Gerard looks at me, shifting his vision so as not to disturb my head on his shoulder or hand in his hair.   
“But their favorite way of devoting themselves to God was to lock their only son in his closet everytime he did something that was not considered holy and forcing him to pray to a Jesus figurine for hours on end….And I was a fucking punk brat as a teenager, so you can imagine who messed up my bone structure is from constant bowed over praying,” I say, trying to add a bit of humor into this horrible discussion. Gerard frowns and pulls me closer to him by the hips, a sign of protectiveness.   
I blush and continue, “I was not allowed to listen to the music I wanted to listen to, talk to the people I wanted to talk to, wear what I wanted to wear, even eat what I wanted to eat unless it all strictly met the rules in the bible. And homosexuality...well. I’m sure you can guess what they thought of that.  
“Anyways, they limited me from expressing myself or having friends who really understood me, or left me with any coping methods for it all. I turned to stealing cigarettes from convenience stores at around age 14. It all went downhill from there.   
“Eventually, I progressed into harder and harder drugs, to try and numb the pain, or feel something in my horrible life, or maybe both at the same time. By 16, I was doing cocaine. My 19th birthday marked the start of my meth addiction. I’ll be twenty on Halloween, whenever that is. Which is actually funny, considering my parents felt Halloween was a day of sin and never let me go trick-or-treating.”  
My voice has become harsh, bitter. Gerard is looking at me, concerned. I regret bringing this up, I should just finish this and be done with my stupid past.   
“My parents found me on a high in my bedroom. It was a Sunday, which didn’t exactly help matters. Day of the Lord and all...Anyways, my father went ballistic. He called me a demon, and certainly not his son. I was thrown into my closet again….I don’t think I can ever go back. Especially because I am in love with a male, and a fellow drug addict. But mostly the part that you’re male.” I sigh heavily, closing my eyes to block out all the bad memories.  
Gerard envelops me in a hug. “It’ll be okay. If they don’t accept you for who you are, then fuck them. You are legally old enough to not depend on them, after all, You could leave and never see them again,” He says quietly. I nod silently. He repeats my earlier sentence, “Everyone’s got baggage.” I say nothing, processing what the words truly mean.  
After staying in his embrace for quite some time, I slowly extract myself from his arms and lap and get up, stretching my arms and legs to banish their stiffness. I offer him a hand up, and he takes it, standing close to me. He pulls me by the hipbones closer to him, bending down slightly to touch his forehead to mine. I loop my arms around his waist and look up at him, blowing away a lock of hair that had fallen in my face. He smiles softly at my action and kisses me gently, sweetly. 

We stay like that, two lost and broken people in an abandoned art room, who have at last found each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough few weeks.
> 
> Breakups make everyone feel upset, and one person very guilty.
> 
> I'm always the bad one.
> 
> Sorry for how late this chapter is,
> 
> next chapter up whenever i find the energy to write it,
> 
> the story will end, i wont just drop it, i promise.
> 
> kthnksbye,
> 
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	16. Chapter 14- Blood and Semen-Gerard/Frank- JUST PUTTING A RAPE/SEXUAL ABUSE TRIGGER OVER THIS WHOLE FUCKING CHAPTER

Chapter 14

Gerard/Frank

Gerard

Frank and I haven’t spent much time together for a few days after that art class due to all sorts of tests Frank has to do at the Monroeville County Hospital. I think it’s to make sure he’s detoxing correctly. I spend the majority of my time holed up in the art room drawing and sketching with the shitty supplies to keep my mind off the absence of my boyfriend.   
I draw everything. I draw the way Ray’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. I draw my arm, in all it’s disgusting pockmarked glory. I draw the artificial light that seeps under the cracks of my room’s door at night when I should be sleeping but my head is too filled with white noise to slumber. I draw Officer Peterson’s car driving off a cliff. I draw Lindsey’s smirk and her fingers clutching my pillow, about to throw it back to me. I draw what I imagined Ray’s friend Nia would have looked like. I draw her smiling and alive, and I draw her bleeding and dead. I draw myself as the monster, for we are one and the same.  
But most of all I draw Frankie. His hazel eyes that held so much pain, but also hid happiness in their shining. His perfect cracked and pink lips that taste like the smell of rain and his wintergreen toothpaste. His head thrown back, pale neck exposed and mouth open in ecstasy from that day that the events of still cause my face to heat up. His hands, slightly smaller than mine and fingers just as slender.   
My thoughts tend to wander as I illustrate the random moments in my life back to my life after leaving Bert but before ending up here. My period of nothingness, of limbo, of floating without purpose. Not that I’ve ever had a fucking purpose to begin with anyways. It’s mostly a haze of heroin with vague brick walls of alleyways I slept in interspersed, but there is one night that I can clearly remember.  
It must have been a few weeks...or was it months? It doesn’t fucking matter. It had been a while since I had left Bert and they days and nights had started to bleed together into one big, uncaring sob story. I had gone to a different dealer, anyone but Bert for my fix, and… no. No. NO. Get the fuck out of my head. The past is done.   
I shake my head, as if that will clear my repressed memories, and push my chair back with a jerk of my legs as I stand up. I bend my knees a few times to unstiffen them from their bent up position and gather my strewn papers. Confident all my illustrated secrets are gathered safely in my arms, I walk out of the art room.   
After putting my drawings into the growing pile of papers under my bed, I sit on my bed and lean my head against the wall.I stare at the stains on the ceiling for a while, trying to form animals and shapes out of them like a child with clouds. Growing bored, I turn and knock on the wall behind me, calling out softly, “Frankie, are you there? It’s me. Gerard, I mean.”   
Well of course it would be you, you idiot. Who else would be in this fucking room? You sound pathetic. I wait for a reply, but am met with silence through the thin wall. He’s not there. I throw myself down on the bed with a dramatic sigh, absentmindedly scratching at my gross forearm. Realizing that I probably shouldn't be irritating it more, I push myself to my feel and stride out of the room, trying to escape my own bored and warped mind.  
I wander around absently, not having anything or anyone to do. Hahaha. So fucking funny. Not.   
I ride up and down in the elevator for a few minutes, before slumping to the floor in the corner and letting the elevator take me with it’s commands from other patients with an actual destination. I ride in awkward silence with other people I might have seen in group therapy, or the cafeteria at some point, to different levels of the building. I eventually slink out after someone on the floor that I think is mine, ground floor, and meander to the bathroom. Maybe I’ll be able to get high sniffing hand soap. Eh, it’s something to pass the time.   
I splash water on my face, trying to distract myself. I study my face, practicing smiles. Mikey always said I never smiled enough. They all turn to grimaces and I blow my hair out of my vision angrily. It falls back in my eyes, and I resolve myself to get a hold of some scissors and tame the fucking black mess obscuring most of my face. I plant my face in my hands, just annoyed with everything at this point.   
There is a creak behind me, and I glance backwards to see what made the noise.  
My eyes connect with those eyes. Light green. His search mine for a second, and then are filled with anger and spite. I spin around to try to back away, only to be reminded that there is a sink behind me and I can’t. My heartbeat speeds up exponentially, and I start to breathe rapidly.

Bert.

He is close to me, far too close in a short moment, and his hand brushes the hair out of my face, an oddly tender gesture that clashes horribly with his face twisted with malice.   
“You. It was you who fucking tipped them off, wasn’t it? It’s your fault I’m stuck in this shithole,” He hisses at me.   
His few inches height advantage now seems like he’s feet, miles taller. I walk sideways, but it’s the wrong way, because I end up pressing myself into the corner of the bathroom. I can’t look away from his eyes burning with anger. His hands are on either side of my shoulders, blocking my escape and trapping me in. I turn my face away, trying to block him out of my mind and vision, but I can feel a bony knee stab me in the stomach and one of his hands grabs my chin to make my face him, fingernails digging in roughly to my skin.  
Tears form in my widened eyes, and he spits his words in my face, “I’m gonna kill you, I swear to fucking god. Someone gave the cops an anonymous tip where I was living. They took it all, my entire stash. My whole fucking business, Gone!”   
He digs his knee farther into my stomach and I yelp in pain. I try to get words out, but I can’t. Memories from the last time something like this happened are resurfacing. “And I used that shit too. Where the fuck am I gonna get my high? That was nine hundred fucking dollars, Gerard. This is your fucking fault and you’re gonna pay, bitch.”   
He is silent for a second, and I stupidly hope he is going to leave with just that warning, but he speaks again, a blood curdling smile forming on his face, “You know you never did pay me for your last fix…” He trails off and looks me up and down lustfully.   
A red hot ball of fear lights in the pit of my stomach and I find my voice finally. “I didn’t tip anyone off about your dealing, let the fuck go of m-” It sounds shaky and weak and I am silenced by Bert’s hand around my throat, cutting off my air.   
“Shut the fuck up!” He says roughly, slamming me harder against the wall. My head hits against the wall with a sickening crack sound and I am gone, crying. No, sobbing. It’s just like the last time this happened. He unzips his pants and I black out in horror, completely gone in the flashback.

Couldn’t pay Bert’s prices.   
Looked around, found a new dealer, cheaper high.   
He found out.   
Angry.   
Dependent.   
Slammed against a wall.  
Kicked.   
Kicked all over.  
Crying.  
Sobbing.  
Screaming out.  
Slapped.  
Gagged.  
Struggling.  
Breaking free.  
Running.  
Caught.  
Dragged into alley.  
Thrown down.  
His boot on my chest.  
Pants unzipped.  
“Suck”.  
Recoiling.  
Slapped with his….  
“SUCK”.  
Crying.  
Sucking.   
Licking.  
“Please, just beat me up”.  
“No”.  
Hand in my hair, pulling me forward.  
Choking.  
Gagging.  
Thrown back.  
Flipped over.  
Crying.  
Kicking out.  
Can’t stay still.  
Clawing at the wall before me.  
Trying to get leverage.  
To get up.  
To run.  
Didn’t work.   
He unzips.  
…  
Pain.  
White hot pain.  
Screaming.  
Fingers, a hand in my mouth.  
Keeping me quiet.  
Thrust.  
No.  
Thrust.  
Stop.  
Thrust.  
Help.  
Thrust.  
Bleeding.  
Thrust.  
Crying.  
Thrust.  
Humiliation.  
“Fuck, so tight.”  
Thrust.  
Rough.  
Thrust.  
Sobbing.  
Thrust.  
Why.  
Thrust.  
Why me?  
Thrust.  
Kill me, please.  
Thrust.  
Thrust.  
Thrust.  
…  
*Spurt*  
…

 

Frank

Finally, they let me out of that fucking hospital. If I see another fucking IV strip today, I’m going postal. I card a hand through my disheveled hair and try and find my way through the mess of nondescript hallways in this rehab to an area I’m familiar with. I duck my head into the art room, expecting to find Gerard hunched over a sketch in the corner. I am only met with an empty room and silence, so I go to the hallway mine and Gee’s rooms are located and knock on his door. After being greeted by silence again, I frown and rest my head against the door. If I were a cute, emotionally damaged, drug addict artist and overall dork where would I be? I find no answer sent down by the heavens so I wander around some more, looking for my boyfriend.  
Passing by the bathrooms on the east wing of this floor, I hear a crack and a muffled cry coming from the men’s bathroom. I am a bit hesitant to check the source of it, because I know that checking mysterious noises in a rehab surrounded by hundreds of mentally unstable addicts is a definite no-no. But my curiosity and concern wins out, and I push open the door.   
At first I don’t understand what I’m looking at. There is a figure hunched over in the corner and a man pinning him down, and I think that I’ve walked in on a couple doing something I shouldn’t have seen. But I soon realize the man pinned down is being choked and has seemed to pass out. And his hazel eyes are wide in fear and pain. I’d recognize that shade of hazel anywhere. Oh my god, Gerard!   
It only takes me a second to realize what is happening here, and my heart races with fear. I look around for something, anything to stop this guy. My eye is drawn to the light glinting off an empty toilet roll hanger in the second stall, and I rush to grab it. It takes me mere seconds to unscrew the aluminum holder, but each second seems like hours because I know that only a few feet away the man I love is being violated by some scumbag.  
I finally detach the metal bar and without thinking smack Gerard’s violator repeatedly as hard as I can in the head with it. He falls to the ground, unconscious. Gerard seems to awaken from his state of immobilization and slides down the wall, shaking violently. I kick the violator aside distractedly, too worried about Gerard. I crouch down next to him, stroking his face gently. He looks at me with wild eyes, and starts to cry. He is crying with no reservations whatsoever, like a baby. The sight breaks my heart, and I slowly pull him into a hug. My movements are all cautious and slow, because I honestly can’t tell if he is looking at me or looking through me.  
I feel his arms hesitantly snake around me, and i tighten my grip on him and smooth his hair with my hand, whispering calming nonsense into his ear. “Shh, baby, everything’s alright, he’s gone, I won’t let him hurt you, I love you, so much, it’s okay Gerard, this is me, this is Frank. I’m so sorry this happened, I should have gotten here faster. Everything’s fine now...”  
His crying slowly subsides, and he pulls away from my embrace. I kiss him on the cheek, and his eyes finally seem to register that I’m in front of him. He is silent, his eyes searching mine.   
“Th-thank you,” He whispers. The horribleness of this whole scene is too much for me and I have to bite my lip hard enough to draw blood to refrain from crying. I lick the blood off my lip and glance at the still unconscious man laying on the ground. I can see his face now, and it is long and narrow with stubble peppering his chin and jaw. His long black hair is tangled.   
I sit across from the obviously deeply traumatized Gerard, not wanting to push conversation until he recovers more. After a long silence, he speaks without prompting. “That’s Bert,” He says in a shaky and cracked voice.  
White hot hatred bubbles up and rises within me. Gerard must see this in my face, because he puts his hand on my knee. “Don’t,” He croaks out, as if reading my violent thoughts.  
I pull him into another hug, feeling his heart beat against my chest, reminding me he is still alive. He weakly hugs me back, and I realize how scared and weak he must be feeling. I whisper into his ear, “Let’s get you back to somewhere he can’t touch you, okay?” He nods slightly. I sit next to him with my back against the wall and put his arm over my shoulders, using the wall to awkwardly bring the both of us to our feet. I fill a paper cup laying by the sink with water and grab some paper towels, stuffing them into my pockets with the intention of cleaning up Gee as soon as we are safely in his room. I let him prop himself up against the counter as I do this. I button his pants back up too, fighting the urge to smash Bert’s skull in.   
I resume my position as his crutch and we slowly make our way out of the bathroom. Just before the door closes behind us, I glance back to where Gerard as fallen to the ground. My eyes burn and start to fill with tears.

Just as I expected. A puddle of blood and what looks to be semen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is horrible. This is disgusting. I hate myself, and I am so sorry.  
> I don't like writing my hero getting raped twice on the same chapter at all. I'm sorry.  
> TRIGGERTRIGGERTRIGGERTRIGGERTRIGGER in general.  
> This is a dark story.  
> I have nothing against bert mccracken irl, i'm sure he's lovely and would never do this .
> 
> on a side note, ive been going through a very dark time recently.  
> Like silently sobbing to the song how to save a life by the fray at 3 am and wondering how i got so low.  
> trying not to relapse into self harm. i want to cut. so bad.  
> 4 months. almost 5.  
> kthnks bye,  
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	17. Chapter 15- Frank- Help

Chapter 15- Frank

 

Helping Gerard back to his room is slow going to say the least. Even with all of my efforts being channeled into keeping him upright and moving forward while being careful not to spill the cup of water, the larger man’s knees are shaking far too much to support himself. The way we are walking’s also starting to attract the stares of others milling about in the hallway. As more stares fall on us, I discreetly try to pull the back of Gerard’s shirt down past the curve of his ass to hide any… bodily fluids that might have leaked through the worn denim of his pants.

Gerard himself seems to be in a trance, eyes glazed over and dulled. His hair lies limp with sweat and grease over his forehead, pushed to the side to show his face. Whether this is intentional or not I cannot tell nor think is important right now, but it sure is important as hell that I do something, anything, about the fat tears streaming silently down his face. 

Still several hallways away from Gerard’s room, I catch sight of a small figure with black hair coming out of a uniform grey doorway. Jamia. She can help. I softly call out to her in the empty hallway, my voice cracking halfway through my plea. “Jamia, I really need your help here, please-” 

I stop as soon as her head whips around, and she immediately takes in Gerard’s trembling figure and my strained face. She is at my side in an instant, speaking in her soft and clear worry-laced voice. “Oh my god, Frank, what happened? Did you do something to him?” 

I glare at her, carding a hand through my limp from sweat hair and reposition Gerard so he rests higher on my shoulder. His face falls forward limply and I try to take a deep calming breath. 

“No, I didn’t fucking do this. Of course I didn’t do anything to him,” I snap at her, quickly realizing my ‘deep, calming breath’ did jackshit. She glares back and speaks in a hushed whisper, as if sensing the severity of this situation. “I didn’t mean it like that, don’t get so defensive. But seriously, if you need help from me, I need to know what happened.” I start to open my mouth to explain how I had knocked Gerard’s ex-boyfriend out in the middle of him raping Gerard, and that he may be looking for us at any moment. But I am stopped when Gerard suddenly stoops down, his face parallel to mine and eyes oh so close, burning with a strange intensity. My thoughts of talking with Jamia are forgotten as he shakes his head, eyebrows creasing slightly, and I know in this moment I cannot tell anyone about Bert or what has happened. I softly stroke the side of Gerard’s face, a nonverbal understanding. He pulls away, back to his state of half animation. I remember that I have to lie about what happened to Jamia, and clear my throat before doing just that. 

“He had a bit of an...accident, and I really need your help to get us back to his room and help me clean him up. Please, we’re kind of desperate here,” My voice takes on an edge of hysteria as the seconds face into minutes of standing in this hallway, and Jamia senses this, nodding to herself or me, possibly both at once. She slips herself under the other arm of Gerard, instantly relieving some of the pressure (literally and figuratively) on my shoulders and correcting Gerard’s posture. I shoot her a smile which she returns quietly and we walk through the last few hallways before reaching Gerard’s door. 

Jamia holds the door open for me and Gerard to pass through, and I guide Gerard to the bed, seating him softly next to me. I motion to Jamia and she comes to sit on the other side of me, taking the paper cup of water and paper towels from my hands and methodically dampening the brown napkins. I take a deep breath, realizing this is going to be hard for me, possibly traumatizing for gerard, and just downright awkward for Jamia. 

Moving off the bed, I lower myself to my knees in front of Gerard, taking his face in my hands softly and getting his attention. I brush the tears still rolling down his face away, leaving only sticky tracks in their place. 

“Gee, we need to clean you up, okay? Otherwise it’ll be very...uncomfortable, and your pants are gonna get stained,” I say quietly as if talking to a child, smoothing the inky hair off his cheeks. I mention to Jamia with a slight head nod, “This is Jamia, my friend. She’s gonna help me, cause this is kind of a big job. Are you okay with her being here?” 

Gerard glances through his hair at Jamia, who tentatively reaches over to rub soft circles on Gerard’s back. I can feel him flinch slightly but he gives a short, jerky nod and I nod back, more to myself than to him. 

I clap my hands lightly onto Gerard’s shoulders, aware of his hypersensitivity to intrusive touches. “Um, your pants need to come off. Do you want to, or…” I trail off as Gerard reaches down with trembling fingers to undo the button and zipper of his denim jeans. Suddenly none of us know where to look, and as Gerard slides off his pants, followed by his boxers (both of which I recognize as mine), there seems to be a twin sigh of slight dread from Jamia and I. 

Okay, okay this is progress. I make a slight twist with my hands still on Gerard’s arms and he seems to understand me and turns around, laying down on his stomach with his head pillowed in his forearms. 

I sit at the very top of the bed in front of Gerard’s hidden face, and give a small nod to Jamia. She seems to have figured out several minutes ago that Gerard had been raped, and slowly started to dab around his thighs and posterior with a now damp paper towel, washing off the blood and other, more fowl fluids from his pale skin. I watch her face for signs of disgust or surprise, knowing this is far too much to ask her to do, but I know that I weren’t to sit in front of Gerard, so he could see me, this would be too much for him. 

A soft sob escapes from Gerard’s lips under his nest of tangled black hair, and I lean down slowly to level myself with his face. He looks up at me with reddened and veined eyes, tear tracks fresh on his skin, and I rest my palms softly and oh so slowly on his face. He pulls me forward my the shoulders suddenly, burying his face in my neck and stifling his sobs. I dimly remember that night where the roles reversed so many weeks ago, when he held me and cried with me as I shook so violently. My eyes burn with tears I harshly blink back, glaring up at nothing, just so angry at the world for this situation we have been placed in, all of us in this godforsaken place. Jamia pretends that nothing has happened, continues wiping steadily. 

After many moments of silence the quiet girl clears her throat, prompting me to glance her way. “It’s as good as it’s going to get at this point, but I think it would be best if you just fully bathed, Gerard,” Her speech is decidedly directed at Gerard but her hazel eyes lock with mine and her eyebrows quirk upwards as her lips purse. Her face makes it clear she is not helping me with this next part. I nod slightly to her, rolling my eyes. Gerard makes a small sniffling sound when I pull away from our tight embrace, and I press a chaste kiss to his lips and slowly move us both onto our feet. 

I try to find the largest, most ill-fitting pair of pants I brought with me to minimize the contact with any injured or raw areas Gerard has, and I end up handing him a pair of oversized red plaid sweatpants. Jamia sits on the bed with a tired plop, and I can tell this whole ordeal has been draining for her too. She shoos me away when I move to talk to her, and it takes me a second of blinking to realise she wants me to explain this all later. Oh well.   
It seems Gerard can stand on his own now, but I lace my fingers in his for reassurance to him and we walk into the hallway. The showers have to be somewhere on this floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Jamia is a really good friend and wow gerard+ no pants = awkward as fuck
> 
> BOOM A FUCKING CHAPTER. I kept my promise. This time.  
> we are nearing the end of this fucking rollercoaster, ladies (and gents? do guys read fanfics? if you are male tell me)
> 
> I came out to my mom, big mistake. My homosexuality is apparently a "phase" and a "Choice" and "fake". I'm so glad she has this ability to judge me and label me as she pleases with no repercussions. Parenthood.
> 
> I will try to get another chapter up within the week.
> 
> I relapsed, but then I threw my blades away. cold turkey, yo.
> 
> kthnksbye,  
> XXX Mourning-Glory XXX


	18. Chapter 16-Pray- Frank

Chapter 16- Frank

With a small amount of the hospital’s layout knowledge and a large miracle, I manage to both keep hold of Gerard’s clammy hand and find the showers without looking for all the world like a lost puppy sure to attract every overly concerned nurse’s attention. I glance around the corner with the hope of finding the bathroom and the shower stalls at the far end of it unoccupied, but no such luck. One shower stall in the corner has a spray of water trickling down and bouncing off the bather, but it’s not like getting Gerard cleaned can exactly wait.  
I make to go to the farthest stall from the entrance, but Gerard tugs my arm sharply as we’re about to pass the third stall. I raise my eyebrows at him, but he just jerks his head toward the stall we’re in front of limply. Shrugging, I let him lead me in.  
He silently strips his shirt off and my eyes flicker over the bare expanse of skin that’s just lightly sprinkled with freckles. He clears his throat quietly and I start out of the slight reviere, smiling apologetically. A mirroring smile flits over his face and is gone as quickly, and I’m immediately sobered by the situation we’re in. I pull my shirt off and toss it to the outside of the stall, loosening my belt and stripping fully nude, waiting for him to do the same. He does so silently and stepping forward, I tilt his head down very gently with pale and shaky fingers, making sure he isn’t startled or feels further violated. My lips ghost over his hair covered forehead in a breath-like kiss. His eyes close and he exhales, quietly. Letting go of the past. I move a hand to the faucet and let the warm water fall on us in rivulets.   
We stand there for what is quite possibly too long, me watching gerard and him watching his feet. Time passes with the water’s flow, and I reach for the soap, knowing that he just needs my presence and silence is the best. I wash my hair, kneading the drenched dark locks with the regulation baby shampoo we have in this shithole. After a bit I decide that is enough of a shower and turn back to Gerard. He visibly shrinks into himself, rubbing the back of his neck. It pains me to see that and instead of trying to clean him or embrace him I just slowly offer him the soap, open palmed and as non threatening as I can be. He takes it slowly and begins washing his shaggy black hair, eyes trained on the water swirling down the drain in the floor. I curse that...that rapist Bert again, promising myself that this will never happen again.   
I feel Gerard’s hand lightly tap my shoulder blade and I turn slowly to his arms resting lightly on my shoulders, a thumb stroking shakily on my neck. Relieved he actually wants to confide in me, I tilt his chin up to look into his eyes. His already bloodshot eyes water and I stand on tiptoes to touch his forehead with mine. Softly, hesitantly, I bring my hands up to his face and brush the limp and dripping hair out of his face, fully gazing into those hazel irises. He cracks, letting out a ragged sob as he caves against me and his head hits my shoulder. I hold him up by the hips and let him shudder, knowing he just needs to cry.  
As I bring a hand up to touch lightly at his back, a thought flits through my mind. We need to get out of here, and soon. It slips out of my chapped lips before I realize it, and I feel him nod slightly against my shoulder, clutching to my middle like he’s drowning and I’m both his anchor and lifesaver. I hold him tighter and glance up to the sky, truly praying for the first time in my life, that we can make it out of this in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. It's been awhile, but I'm back.  
> A lot has happened. Please feel free to yell at me for such an absence.  
> I have a girlfriend now, we've been together almost 3 months.  
> This story will only have a few more chapters, we're nearing the end.  
> I love you guys.


	19. Chapter 17-Nia Smiles-Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, to the end.

Ray  
****************  
It's been two years. Two years since I got them out. Fuck. 

Frank came to me on my night shift at four am, cussing and angrily wiping away tears. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong, wouldn't let me touch him. He seemed paranoid, from the tail end of withdrawal or something else I couldn't tell, probably a mixture of both. 

He said he needed out, they both needed out. He said someone had done something very bad to Gerard, and that he couldn't let that happen again. He was begging me. Fearing he'd wake up the other patients, I took him into my small office. He sat slumped against the door frame, shaking and sallow. I felt a pang, and remembered Nia. Remembered how she wasted away in here. Remembered how she had looked like Frank shortly before she took her life, how I couldn't take the sound of another person's bones crunching upon impact with the ground replaying infinitely in my dreams. 

Frank let out a small 'please', his voice cracking as he broke down sobbing silently. I melted. I was going to get Frank and Gerard out of the institution if it killed me.

*****

Hatching the plan took several days, if not weeks. By the time it was ready Gerard was nearly comatose, walking around with glazed over eyes. Frank wouldn't leave his side. 

We had decided to wait for a big storm, one that was bad enough that all the patients would be rounded up into the basement for movie night, as loud noises, flashing lights, and recovering drug addicts don't really mix well. Once we got to the main lobby on ground floor, Frank was to fake a breakdown, screaming and writhing. As residential police guards came running over, Gerard (already completely unnoticed due to his silence) would slink off to the closest visitors' bathroom. Waiting until Gerard got to the bathroom, I'd wave off the guards around Frank and tell them this was a normal occurrence and under control. I'd say I was taking him to the bathroom and do so while everyone else filed into the basement.

Next came the tricky part. Frank would take the paper towel roll off the wall and hit me over the head with it, making it look like I was assaulted and unable to stop their escape. They were to both sprint to the exit and out the visitor doors and not to look back.

The plan went off without a hitch. The police were unable to capture them and the search was dropped after two weeks. 

*****

I hope they got their happy ending. God, I hope they both stayed clean. 

I know one thing for sure. Up above, Nia smiles down at them because I was able to save Frank and Gerard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ray Toro, the man with the plan. 
> 
> I FINISHED IT CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT????
> 
> Sorry I've had such a long absence, life kind of got in the way. I love everyone who has commented on this and helped motivate me to finish it. Please, if anyone is reading this, I fucking love you. 
> 
> XXX Mourning Glory XXX

**Author's Note:**

> P.O.V of many characters
> 
> Okay, this is my first fanfiction ever. Tell me if you guys like it!  
> This is also posted on MyChemicalRomanceFanfiction.com under the same title. Feedback is greatly appreciated!  
> kthxbye  
> XXX MourningGloryXXX


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